The Trickster's Tale
by Padaloki
Summary: Loki is banished from Asgard almost immediately upon his return. Abandoned and alone, he sinks from anger to depression and self-harm as he loses all hope of love or redemption. When all hope seems lost, however, and Loki is nothing but a broken, defeated shell of his former self, help comes from the most unlikely source. Canon pairings; warnings inside.
1. Fallen Angel

_A/N: I have returned! (My previous username was Sergeant Hiddles, for those of you who might have read some of my previous work.) After an extensive one-shot spree, I think I have finally been granted sufficient motivation and inspiration for a full-length story. Of course, starting up a new story a week before heading to college probably isn't the smartest thing, so I suppose I should warn everyone that updates might be a little sporadic, due to the craziness ahead. However, I do have roughly 10,000 words already written, so that should help. This chapter is relatively short, but future ones will be much longer. _

_This is intended to be a post-Avengers story. It may incorporate some elements of what has been revealed in the Thor: The Dark World trailer, but only a few. I should leave a warning, as well, that there will be lots of angst, self-harm, suicidal thoughts and behavior, and sort-of-but-not-really graphic mentions of rape and possibly torture. _

_And with those happy thoughts, please enjoy :)_

* * *

Dead leaves skittered across the asphalt, rattling and cracking like dried bones. The wind was cold, almost fiercely so; few in the city ventured out of doors on anything but pressing business. Central Park was almost completely deserted, the unrelenting, chilly breeze having driven away even the most determined citizens. What few people were on the streets quickly vanished as night fell; all who remained were the infrequent pigeons and the wandering homeless.

Night fell, and to the slumbering city, it seemed like any other.

A stray cat wound its way around a malodorous collection of trash bins, nose on the alert for any small creatures who might serve as a suitable meal. It sniffed all about, slowly meandering through the alleyway and onto the deserted street, circuitously approaching Central Park. Then, suddenly, the animal's hair stood on end, and it bolted for safety a moment before the sky rent apart with a beam of light that crashed into the ground with a roar. Car alarms blared with shrill urgency, and windows and curtains flew open in a hurry to see what had happened. But nothing, not even the cat, was to be seen.

* * *

Within the park, however, all was not as it had been. The light had retreated back into the sky, but not before hurling a dark figure to the ground. The man, clad in nothing but a threadbare black shirt and pants, was left sprawled over the frozen dirt, breathing heavily.

Some minutes passed before he finally moved, stretching out his limbs with a groan and laboriously standing. His skin was almost as pale as the moonlight illuminating it, though of a strange hue; his hair just as dark in contrast. Faint scars marred his skin, marks both of a battle long ago and of recent abuse. He was thin, as though he had not eaten properly for some time; his tall stature accentuating the boniness of his limbs and hollow cheeks. Piercing eyes flickered over the landscape before him, before his face twisted into a snarl and he let out a howl of rage.

_"Damn you, Odin! DAMN YOU!"_

His voice, though hoarse, was deep and powerful. Hands clenched by his sides, he threw his gaze to the dark heavens and screamed.

_"What have you done?_ You cannot leave me here! I am a _king!"_

The brooding clouds gave no response.

"You cannot simply cast me out, without a trial! Even your blackest traitors have had the chance to defend themselves? Where is your justice, _Allfather?"_

Still, there was silence.

"What- is it because I am a _Frost Giant?_ Is that why you exile me without so much as a backward glance? Because I am Loki _Laufeyson?_ Because I am not truly of Asgard, like your _precious_ Thor?"

Loki's chest heaved as he glared with deathly anger at the blank clouds, fists trembling. The anger seemed to radiate from him in waves, stirring the wind into gusts of unease.

"Am I thus to be abandoned? After- after years of fighting for you, years of declaring allegiance to you, you will toss me away as though I am not worthy of your slightest attention? Will you not even hear me _speak?_ Am I to be ignored thus? _Answer me!"_

Red and blue lights flashed in the distance. Loki turned, frowning, to see a Midgardian car slowly approaching, the lights pulsing from its roof. Still breathing raggedly, he staggered forward, raising an arm to push a tree branch aside, seeking a better view-

And fell backward in horror, staring in muted shock at his hand.

It was _blue_.

A choked noise escaped Loki's mouth. With panicked movements, he looked over both of hands, then at his stomach, his shoulders, his feet-

All of him. He was blue - grossly, hideously, _revoltingly_ blue. He stood, petrified, eyes open but not seeing. Then he laughed, throwing his head back and shaking with mirth. Oh, Odin was a clever man; a clever man _indeed._ Why simply _exile_ the traitor, when he could force Loki to wear his own terrible skin, and be feared and shunned and cast out again and again by every human who laid eyes on him?

He really had underestimated Odin. For all the man's foolish blindness when it came to Thor, he was cruelly intelligent in matters of punishment. It was not only exile that he had sentenced Loki to - oh, no, it could _never_ be so simple, or so bearable. It was shame, and rejection, and loneliness, and worthlessness, and everything that Loki had fought with all his heart to avoid but was now doomed to suffer for the rest of eternity.

Yes; Odin was a clever man.

The car with the angry, blinking lights was closer now. Loki remembered enough of his previous time on Midgard to know that it was a vessel of the mortal law enforcement. For a moment, he stood his ground, ready to meet any who might challenge him, but his practicality quickly won over. Stripped of his powers and wearing only his Jotun form as he was, it would be foolish to let himself be discovered by the Midgardians; in his current state, they would have complete power over him.

Directing one last furious glare at the heavens, Loki turned and fled.


	2. Into Darkness

_A/N: This chapter is a bit longer, and packed to the gills with angst. 'Tis not for the fainthearted. (Warning: this particular chapter contains some rather graphic self-harm)_

_I'll attempt to update this on a somewhat regular basis, but new chapters may be somewhat erratic, as I'm unsure of what my college schedule will be like. I will try to reply to all reviews as well, though I can't make any promises.  
_

_Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and followed! :) I hope you continue to enjoy the story._

* * *

The first days were spent wandering the city, his horrid blue skin covered by a "hoodie" that Loki stole from a shabby clothing vendor. Hidden thus from the scrutinizing eyes of the Midgardians, Loki sneaked about New York, searching for any diversion from the raging inferno of anger and pain that was his mind.

How _dare_ Odin exile him. How _dare_ they abandon him, like nothing more than a common criminal. How _dare_ they treat him like refuse. He was a _king._

Odin had not said that Loki's banishment was to be eternal; neither, however, had he specified a time at which Loki might return. With his knowledge of the Allfather's scheming machinations, Loki knew perfectly well that the likelihood of him ever stepping into Asgard again, unless he managed the quite impossible feat of regaining his powers, was incredibly slim. Odin really had him trapped now; Loki had to admit, as grudgingly as it was, that he was truly defeated. With his magic beyond his reach and his very skin guaranteeing him universal mistrust and revulsion, Loki had nowhere to go, no friends to turn to, and no way out. Not even his silver tongue could save him now.

The city, he decided, was nothing but a collection of pitiful steel and concrete hovels, fit for habitation by none except the sniveling humans. It was not one in which he wanted to spend the rest of his days - especially as an outcast - but what choice did he have?

(He was not confined to New York, of course. Loki could have left the city and roamed the world if he wished. But there was always something, unnamed and unconscious, that tethered him there like a chain. It was the hope - trampled and stuffed into a corner - that if he stayed, if he did not stray far, then he would be there when someone finally came for him.)

Loki only briefly entertained the notion of going to the Avengers and seeking aid. What would they do with him, besides either kill him or send him straight to S.H.I.E.L.D.? Loki had no desire to find himself in the clutches of that mortal organization; the prospect of living out his life as a prisoner and test subject was not appealing, even when compared to the alternative of homelessness.

As the weeks began to trickle by, Loki slowly accumulated a knowledge of the city; he knew which areas afforded the smallest chance of observation, which alleys were most likely to be deserted at night, which vendors were likely to leave food unwatched, which streets were guarded by vigilant eyes and were, therefore, not safe for a person of Loki's status.

It continued to gall him, to rankle under his ugly blue skin, that he had been reduced to something as pathetic as a street vagrant, scrounging and digging for whatever scraps were to be had. But as shameful as it was, there was nothing Loki could do; with his appearance being as it was, there was no way, even with carefully crafted speech, that he could better his position. The few mortals who had glimpsed his dark hue shrank back in immediate horror; one had even called for the "police." There were none whom Loki could trust, none who would extend a hand of kindness or compassion towards the monster wandering the streets.

Loki was well and truly alone.

His anger stayed with him for the first months, as he reluctantly settled into the semblance of a routine. He still spent almost every waking moment cursing Odin and Thor and Asgard, sometimes silently and sometimes under his breath, but there were other things to occupy his mind now - where his next meal would be had, where he could sleep, where he could hide without anyone seeing his hideous face.

Three months and five days into his exile, Loki's worn black prison garments finally became too torn and shabby to bear wearing. Taking care to avoid any suspicious eyes, Loki snatched new clothing from a homeless shelter when it was closed for the night. The lock was simple enough to break; once inside, Loki quickly gathered what supplies he could carry before hastily vacating the premises. The clothes he stole were not of the best quality, but they were sufficient; the dirty, dark grey pants and stained plaid button-down shirt, while far below Loki's standards of dress, were at least stronger than his prison clothing and would serve to camouflage him among the other vagrants.

Relinquishing his Asgardian garments, however, stung a little. They were his last relic of Asgard; although they were only the standard-issue rags for prisoners, they were a not quite unwelcome reminder of an existence that was not confined to this pitiful realm.

That night, Loki found a trash bin full of glass bottles and smashed every last one of them against a nearby brick wall, uncaring of the bleeding gashes left in his hands or the angry shouts from the windows above. He fled before the policeman arrived.

As though a dam had broken, the day began a several week long spiral of fury and depression. Loki stopped eating, or caring at all for his personal appearance; he raged at the sky by night and hissed insults and threats in empty alleys by day. He was consumed by an anger that burned like fire in his veins, an anger that seized his mind and forced itself out in snarled words and smashed bottles that left his hands bloody and shaking. Soon, it was not only empty bottles that Loki sought, but full ones; he tried to drown his emotions in drink, but even the stuff that was called strong by the Midgardians barely took the edge from his pain. Still, Loki drank and drank, working himself into spells of such inebriation that he could not even think, able only to lie in misery beside a dumpster and mutter foggily about his troubles to people who would only wrinkle their noses and shake their heads as they gave him a wide berth.

But drink, no matter what quantities he imbibed, could not dampen his anger. Two years into his exile, Loki began taking bits of metal and shards of glass and lacerating his wrists and arms, hating the savage blood that poured from the wounds. The pain, sharp and burning and stinging and aching, was the only method Loki had of distracting himself from the raw heartache that threatened to tear his soul apart. He hated his not-family, but was desperate for them to take him back; he cursed Thor one moment, and begged his forgiveness another.

One cold, clear night, four years and seven months after his banishment, when Loki had lost so much blood that he could barely move, his eyes drifted to the starry sky in a rare moment of lucidity. His anger was strangely far away; he felt detached, almost, like he was observing himself from afar.

Still staring at the heavens, Loki painstakingly pushed himself up from the pile of garbage in which he had been lying, and limped slowly towards the tree-filled expanse of Central Park. With the entire city open to him, Loki never could seem to wander too far away from that natural refuge that sat so illogically in the heart of the concrete madness. Though Loki would never admit it to himself, no matter how far he fell, he knew, deep within, that the park was a link, however tenuous, to Thor and Asgard and a life that did not reek of garbage and ache with loneliness. It was something, small as it might be, that connected Loki to everything he had lost.

Oh, what a sentimental fool he had become.

The wind was bitingly cold, just as it had been on the night he arrived. Wrapping his arms around his bony torso, Loki walked through the park until he reached a clearing that opened up to reveal all that could be seen of the Midgardian sky. Loki gazed at it for some time, pale lips slightly open, as though waiting for something.

Finally, he sank down onto his knees, trembling a little.

"Allfather," Loki began, his voice choked and hard from disuse. "Allfather, I- I beg your forgiveness. I want to come h-home."

The skies were just as silent and unresponsive as they had been on that first night, when Loki could barely contain his rage. Now, however, there was no anger. There was only a desperate pain.

"Odin… F-Father… please… please listen to me. I want to come home now," Loki said softly and pleadingly. "I- I am sorry. For everything."

But even as the earnest apology fell from his quivering lips, there was no reply.

"Please!" Loki fell to his knees, gazing upwards with tears in his eyes. "Please! I beg you! I am sorry, I truly am! I'll do whatever you ask, just- please, _please_ let me come home."

The silent moments fell like icy rain, until Loki could hold himself together no longer. Wailing brokenly, he slumped forward onto the ground, weeping. "P-Please," he stammered. "Father, Mother, Th-Thor… please… I'm so s-sorry…"

* * *

The Rainbow Bridge shimmered brilliantly over the hissing and tossing waters of the sea as Thor strode across to the Bifrost, scarlet cape flapping behind him. His brow was set and dark, heavy with brooding, and his right hand gripped Mjolnir tensely. He approached Heimdall without a word, stopping expectantly several paces from the Gatekeeper.

"You have come to inquire after Loki?" Heimdall's smooth voice intoned.

"Yes."

"His condition is unchanged."

"He has not caused any trouble?"

"None."

"Thank you." Thor bowed slightly before turning and walking swiftly away without a backward glance.

* * *

Seeing Loki banished had not been difficult, really. Thor had been prepared for any manner of harsh punishment, steeling himself with the knowledge that Loki deserved whatever the Allfather meted out, and that, as long as the penalty was not death, Loki would eventually be free again. It would have been hard to see Loki killed, but Thor trusted his father's judgment. If Loki was to be executed, then Thor would not intervene. It was not his fault, after all, that Loki was the madman he'd become.

When he heard that Loki was only to be exiled to Midgard, Thor had felt relieved, if not a little irked, that Loki's deeds earned such a light punishment. Of course, Thor himself had been banished for a similar crime, but his offense had been much smaller, with only the Jotuns having suffered any harm. Loki, on the other hand, had willfully and knowledgeably planned and executed an unprovoked invasion of an almost defenseless planet, using an army that was not even his to command. It saddened Thor to see his brother on such dark paths, and suffering the consequences for his wayward wanderings, but he knew that it was necessary that Loki be taught righteousness and humility, just as Thor himself had been. Loki's exile was only for a short time, after all; when Thor was king, he would visit his brother and ascertain his state of mind. If Loki had changed his ways, then he could return home.

With a lightening heart, Thor strode through the royal gardens and into the palace itself. It was all not so bad; before too long, Loki would be back in Asgard, and Thor would have his family together again. Loki would be annoyed at having to spend so long on Midgard, Thor thought with amusement, but if he chose to give up his mad desires, then it would all soon be over. Loki needed only to be cured of his irrational desire for power, and he would once again be the loyal little brother that Thor had always loved.

"Thor!"

The god of thunder turned to see his mother waving to him from one of the corridors. Smiling, he approached her.

"How fare you, my queen?"

"I am well," Frigga replied, offering a smile of her own in return. She had not quite been herself since Loki's exile, fretting over her second son's health, but Thor and Odin had eventually reassured her that Loki was healthy and unharmed, and would be all the better for his time among the ones he tried to rule.

"I have just been to inquire after Loki," Thor said. "Heimdall says his condition is unchanged."

"I hope that is good news."

Thor nodded. "Heimdall said before that Loki has become more contrite over the past months. Perhaps we shall see him home before I am crowned."

"Perhaps." Frigga sighed and leaned her head on Thor's shoulder. "I do miss him."

"As do I, mother."

They remained in companionable silence until they reached the hall, where supper was nearly to be served. Thor and Frigga took their places on either side of Odin, bowing and offering the customary greetings to all they met.

They thought no more of Loki that evening.


	3. Acheron

_A/N: So, first off, I want to say that college is amazing. I've met so many fangirls already, and I've hardly been here two days. Furman University, I love you._

_Also, due to the fact that I have just started college, I may not reply to reviews very promptly. I think there are still some from the previous chapter that I haven't responded to yet. I am reading every review, regardless of whether I reply. I will try and answer them all, but it might take a while.  
_

_WARNING: This chapter contains a rape scene. It's not very graphic - on a scale of one to ten, with one being completely non-graphic and ten being smut, it's probably a five or so. Not what you're looking for if you're after smuttiness.  
_

_Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed!_

* * *

Loki had thought he was depressed before his attempted and ignored apology: how wrong he was. Nothing could soothe the heartache and loneliness he was now consumed with; not drink, nor drugs, nor self-inflicted pain, nor anything else that Loki thought to try. He would lie for days in the most trash-ridden alleys, curled up in a corner or beside a dumpster, staring with sightless eyes, unaware and unconscious of what happened around him.

He never thought he would reach a point like this. He, Loki, Silvertongue and God of Mischief and Bringer of Ragnarok. He had always been so proud and confident; with his smooth words and skillful magic, there were few doors that could remain closed to him, few consequences that he could not avoid. He had been able to cloak himself in anger and mischief as well, covering his hurt and desperation at being the second and forgotten son with schemes and tricks. There had always been so many things between him and the pain of being so utterly alone; there had even been the semblance of a family, for a little while.

Now, all of that was gone. Loki was stripped bare and left mentally and emotionally naked and raw in a world that cared nothing for him and had cast him away at the sight of his terrible form. There was no redemption for him, no respite, no forgiveness, no second chance, no escape. He had been defeated.

Loki's supreme, arrogant confidence had always rested on his indefatigable ability to maneuver his way out of any situation; there had always been a 'plan B,' as the mortals called it, or at least the ability to craft one. Loki had always been conceited because he could afford to be so. He had a pride that could be sustained, with a little effort on his part. Such was not true any more, however; he was as helpless as a child lost in a storm. He had nowhere to go.

* * *

The Christmas season was a particularly difficult one for Loki to live through, especially due to the contagious and stinging cheer of New York. Each year, the city was rife with festivity and celebration, with the humans showering each other with gifts and familial love. Loki was well aware, of course, that not every mortal celebrated the holiday, and that some had reasons of their own to not to enjoy it, but it still hurt to see so many manifesting such unbridled cheer when he was so alone and friendless.

Christmas night on the fifth year of his exile came with a chilling wind and a fresh draft of sadness for the former prince, who lay forgotten under the boughs of a tree in Central Park. Fortunately, he thought, he'd been able to snatch a rather warm scarf, and some kind human had given him a modestly warm coat (they hadn't seen his face). Thus fortified against the biting air, Loki closed his eyes and tried to sleep, knowing that within a few days the dreadful holiday would be over and gone.

(Until the next year.)

Loki hadn't wanted to spend the night in Central Park - there was snow everywhere, and it made for a most wet and uncomfortable experience - but this little deserted area was one of the few in which he knew he would not be disturbed. The city never quite fell entirely asleep at night, and this night, with the anticipation of the holiday on the morrow, saw many more citizens out and about when only the moon illuminated the streets. As a result, Loki had to be especially careful that he was not seen. He had learned, through a rather painful lesson, that mortals were apt to give gifts to those who were less fortunate during this season - but were just as likely to scare at the sight of him. More than once, a compassionate soul had approached him with good intentions, and run away screaming like a terrified child. Loki had no wish to experience it again.

By the time the night was over, however, Loki would have traded a thousand such occurrences for what /did/ happen.

He had almost fallen asleep; he was nodding off, the wet, sharp cold almost forgotten, when a slurred voice and dragging footsteps pulled him back to consciousness.

"Well… Arn'you pretty…"

Loki's quick intake of breath seemed to amuse whatever drunkard had stumbled upon him. He swiftly scrambled backwards, only to be halted by a hand grasping his coat with inhuman strength.

"L-Let me go-"

"Oh, I don' thinksso," the man breathed. He pulled Loki towards him; the god was too stunned and paralyzed to fight the unforgiving grip. The man was huge; he would have stood easily as tall as Thor, and just as broad, if not more. He was cruelly muscular, his thick, sculpted chest visible under a flannel shirt and soft, warm coat. His wide, flat face was punctuated by beady, alcohol-sodden eyes.

"No!" Loki cried, struggling suddenly. He tugged uselessly at the hand fisted into his coat, but his weak arms were no match to the raw power of his attacker.

"Feisty, are we?" There was a rumble of laughter. "We'llssee about that."

Loki was suddenly flipped over onto his stomach. Fear flamed within him, and he squirmed and writhed, limbs trying in vain to find purchase on the muddy, snow-slick grass. A hand fumbled at the back of his pants, and Loki screamed, all hope of retaining his pride vanishing quickly. He could nurse his wounded dignity later; now, he needed to escape.

"Help! _Help!_ Unhand me, you- let me _go, _let me-"

"Shh, pretty." The other hand clamped over Loki's mouth, gripping his jaw cruelly hard as his struggles were smothered by the warm, heavy body that was suddenly lying on top of him. "Everythin'll be fine. Jus' you waitandsee."

Tears burned in Loki's eyes as fought with panicked strength against the muscle that pinned him so easily against the cold ground. One hand covered his mouth while the other was busy uncovering his backside; his cheeks burned with shame and humiliation as his pants were torn away and his most private areas greeted with the winter air. Either the man was too drunk to see the disgusting blue hue of his skin, or he simply didn't care. Loki strained his eyes, searching through his tears for any sign of help, of another living being - but he had chosen his hiding place too well. There was no one else about.

As the man occupied himself with unlacing his own pants, Loki clenched his fingers into the frozen grass and closed his eyes, resigning himself to brutal violation and hoping that at least it would be over quickly. It wouldn't be his first time (he was certainly no virgin), but he had never been in such a position against his will before now, and never with another man. There was nothing he could do - mortifying as it was, the human was far stronger than he, starved and weak and terribly alone. So Loki screwed his eyes shut and relaxed his body as much as was possible, in the futile hope that at least it would ease the pain.

When the man entered him, Loki screamed so loudly that his throat seemed torn to shreds. The pain was horrifying, excruciating, burning, consuming - he couldn't think, he couldn't _think_ outside of the raw agony that raged like fire through his body. Then the man pulled out, and in, and out, and in, each time unleashing a wave of such unendurable pain that Loki could do nothing but shriek and brokenly wail. There was blood, rivers and rivers of it, flowing from his rear and onto the frozen ground, melting the icy snow. The blood, Loki noted, was ironically the only thing to ease the passage of what had unleashed it in the first place; the strange and wild thought was the last coherent one to pass through his head before the man's rhythm increased in speed and Loki was burned alive with agony.

He never knew how long it was before he was alone again. There was only the pain, raging and tearing and ripping him apart, abating by degrees as the sun crawled from under the horizon and began its labored trek up the cloudless sky.

It was mid-morning before Loki could move, and mid-afternoon before he had regained enough control of himself to painfully pull his bloodied pants over his shameful and bleeding wounds and slowly, ever so slowly, crawl away from that dreadful place.

Only with a Herculean effort did Loki manage to hide himself behind a building, curled up between an abandoned car and an air conditioning unit. He was still bleeding into his pants, and every movement of his back or legs set a wave of raw agony that forced tears from his eyes and a scream through his throat that he barely had the willpower to suppress.

Oh, if Thor could see him now.

Loki - the proud, the arrogant, the vain, now nothing more than a discarded plaything of a lowly mortal. Loki, tossed away like trash both from Asgard and Midgard. Loki, the worthless monster.

He tried to draw up a curtain of rage and anger at the man who attacked him, hoping to drown his pain and shame in a torrent of fury at one who dared to use the rightful king of Asgard so. But Loki knew it was a lie: he was never born to be anything but a tool, an object to be used and discarded.

Loki had no desire to return to Asgard, now. He did not want anyone there ever again to lay eyes upon him, especially not in a state such as this. If this was the life he was to live, he would at least spare himself the humiliation of having his disgrace open for all to see.

It almost made Loki smile, to think - that after all this time, after all this proof that he was absolutely worthless - that there was still a meager scrap of pride left in his broken soul.

* * *

With spring came a burst of new life in the city; as winter withdrew its cold, spidery fingers, spring marched in with the rain of a hurricane and the sunshine of a golden Asgardian morning. But the bright weather, the beautiful skies that struck joy into the hearts of the mortals, brought no such happiness to Loki.

He had given up.

Loki never moved, now, unless he was forced; he spent four weeks, from the end of February to the middle of March, lying in a corner of the same abandoned warehouse, before being discovered by a roving gang, who forced him out after each raping him in turn. They had laughed at the blood that flowed from his backside like water, calling him all manner of names, but Loki barely heard or felt any of it. When they released him, he staggered away, oblivious to their catcalls and hooted ridicule of his bizarrely colored skin, and found himself another abandoned shelter in which to hide himself.

After three days of lying in a deserted, boarded-up shop - which, from its appearance, might have sold shoes - Loki discovered a cache of old alcohol bottles in a corner. Almost absently, he smashed each and every one of them against the ground, watching as the glass burst and flew out over the floor, as jagged and broken as his life had now become. Then he took one of the larger shards and, uncaring of how its edges cut through the skin of his hand, dragged it across his left arm, watching with distant interest as his blood ran in little rivulets from his arm onto the floor, pooling and mixing with the dust. The pain was almost comforting; it was something, however small and absurd, that was completely under his control.

The summer of his sixth year was scorchingly hot; all the more so for Loki, who was forced to remain clothed in the thick garments that concealed most of his skin and simultaneously roasted him alive. His discomfort at the extreme heat was further compounded at being forced to endure the temperatures in his Jotun form, which reacted especially negatively to the sweltering air. None of the summers here had been at all pleasant, but this one seemed especially brutal, if the reports of increased numbers of mortals falling sick with 'heat stroke' were anything to go by. Unlike these mortals, however, there was no one to help Loki when he fell violently ill with the effects of the heat; he was left to suffer alone, sweating and weak and vomiting what little was in his stomach, well aware that pleading with anyone for help would result only in his likely interrogation and incarceration upon the discovery of his identity.

Loki found that his thoughts revolved increasingly around one thing, and one thing only: _water._ He had long since give up on feeding himself; there was no point, really, in sustaining this horrid and revolting body, but water had the capacity to cool his burning insides and soothe his parched throat. It was incredibly hard to come by, however; venturing out for water meant risking exposure, especially now as his dark hoodie and full-length pants attracted unwanted attention as being rather strange garb for the weather.

Loki was left, therefore, to weather the burning agony without anything to quell his desperate thirst and acute loneliness, the city ignorant and indifferent to his plight.


	4. Zero Hour

_A/N: Well, I have learned that college is the ultimate paradox - I am both excited by it and stressed out of my mind. Fortunately for you guys, one of my number one ways to relieve stress is by writing fanfiction, so updates should keep coming, if not exactly frequently or regularly. And again, I apologize for being very bad with replying to messages and reviews. _

_This chapter doesn't have anything particularly warning-worthy, unless you're bothered by mentions of heat stroke, or by excessive angst._

_Oh, and Tom Hiddleston won in the Anglo Fan Favorites poll :) Thank you to everyone who voted. _

* * *

Tony Stark hated these stupid charity events. Well, not exactly. He didn't hate the _charity _part of it. Doing nice things for people wasn't bad at all; it made him feel like he wasn't a complete over-wealthy jerk (which was the reason, he suspected, why most of the other snobby rich people showed up). Doing stuff like this was also great PR for Stark Industries, according to Pepper. Tony really couldn't care less - anyone who cared about PR (except Pepper) could take it and shove it up their you-know-what.

This particular event was one of Tony's favorites. Not that it was at all pleasant - walking around _outside_ in the miserable heat wasn't exactly something he enjoyed. But handing out water to the homeless, or to anyone who looked like they needed it, and checking for signs of heat exhaustion was something that was obviously pretty necessary. Tony really felt bad for these people, having to stay outside all the time, especially in weather like this. Like the idiots running the event would say, it "puts things in perspective," "makes you grateful for what you have," blah blah blah. In all seriousness, though, Tony didn't mind sacrificing his Saturday and some nice, air-conditioned hours for the poor people out on the streets. Seeing as he lived like a king, handing out water bottles was the least he could do, he figured.

Tony didn't like being recognized, though, by the people he gave the water to - it made him feel even more disgustingly rich and over-privileged - so he most often disguised himself (the usual lame stuff: hat, sunglasses, baggy shirt). As cheap as his "disguise" was, it worked pretty well. Only a few people recognized him, and they were so relieved at the water that they didn't seem to care. Which only made Tony feel worse.

He was just heading toward Central Park when his cell phone rang. Cursing, he fumbled with the case of water bottles balanced on his shoulder, setting it down on the sidewalk, before answering.

"This is the great and benevolent Anthony Stark speaking, how may I help you?"

_"Tony."_

"Ah, Pepper. Just the person I want to see. Hear, I mean. I mean- you know what I mean."

Pepper laughed. _"You're very funny. How's it going out there?"_

"Pretty good, actually. Everyone seems to like the water - I don't know why they wouldn't, seeing as it's me giving it to them - and I've only found a few poor souls with the makings of a nice bout of heat exhaustion. How're things where you are?"

_"About the same, though we did send a lady to the hospital a little while ago. I feel really bad for these people, Tony. They-"_

"Okay, okay, enough with the heart-tugging, or I won't be able to eat any ice cream tonight without feeling like a terrible person."

_"Well, I wouldn't want_ that_ to happen."_

"Do I sense a little sarcasm?"

_"Funny, you took the words right out of my mouth."_

Tony smiled, shaking his head. "You're a sly one. All right, I'll see you later, when I'm finished with my Good Deed for the day. Can I qualify to be an Eagle Scout for this? I never was an Eagle Scout. I've been sore about it for years."

_"I'll get on it, Tony. Bye."_

"Bye." Tony hung up, stuffing his phone back into his pocket, and picked up the case of water bottles again. He made his way down the sidewalk, stepping around the other pedestrians and silently praying that he wouldn't be recognized (he was _not_ in the mood for autographs). He passed by a closed-up shop (an old shoe store, maybe?), and just happened to glance inside. He did sometimes find the weirdest things in those places. Like, this one time-

Holy crap, was that a _person?_

Tony couldn't be sure, but, from where he stood on the sidewalk, it looked like there was someone curled up in a dark corner of the store, their filthy clothing practically blending in with the dingy, trash-strewn building. He hesitated for a minute; the guy might just be some druggie, and he wasn't particularly keen on dealing with someone who was high - he'd done plenty of _that_ last weekend - but, eventually, he decided to at least check on them. They might need water, after all.

There had been a padlock on the door, but whoever was inside had obviously managed to open it. The thing lay tossed to the side. No wonder the guy had gotten past it; it was a pretty cheap little thing. Tony cautiously opened the door, glancing around to see if there was anyone lurking in the shadows like they did in the movies. Thankfully, there wasn't anyone there, so he just walked right up to the man and poked his shoulder.

"Hey there, compadre. Fancy a cool one?"

* * *

Loki was not sure whether he was asleep or awake. He seemed to be hovering in between both; for a few moments, distant noises of cars and voices would reach his ears, and then they would fade away and twist into the bizarre imaginings of a fevered mind. He had long since succumbed to the symptoms of whatever sickness plagued those trapped outside in the brutally hot weather; he had sweated until his clothes were damp and vomited up a mouthful of stomach bile (containing no trace of food), and now he lay limply against the wall of the abandoned store, weak and confused. He was half-sure that he had a fever, but it was too hot for him to know whether his burning skin was truly overheated or simply the same temperature as everything else in this thrice-accursed saucepan of a city.

At least he was shaded, where he lay; but being within four walls meant that they air was stuffy and not ventilated in the slightest. Thus, he was protected from prying eyes, but felt as though he were lying in an oven.

Apparently, though, he was not protected from _all_ prying eyes.

He didn't hear the door swing open. The squeak of the hinges must have been lost in his dream. Or was it a dream? Perhaps Thor really was chasing him through the woods, and it was simply the exertion of running that was making Loki feel so damnably _hot._ No, that wasn't right… Loki had been banished from Asgard years ago…

"Hey there, compadre. Fancy a cool one?"

The words cut like razors into his half-conscious wanderings. Startled and not quite sure of his surroundings, Loki turned his face to try and glimpse whoever had addressed him without revealing too much of his face. He didn't really want to deal with the revulsion of another mortal at the moment.

Then his blood froze.

_Stark._

The man was trying to disguise himself, Loki could tell, but he could see through the flimsy facade easily enough. Behind the cheap sunglasses, baggy T-shirt, and baseball cap was none other than the billionaire that Loki had thrown from the window of his own tower, so long ago.

(Or had Tony thrown _him_ out of the window? Loki couldn't quite remember anymore.)

It took Loki several seconds, in his fevered state, to realize that being confronted by Stark was not a good thing at all. It took him another few seconds to notice the water that the man carried, and was now _offering_ him.

What was the man _doing?_

"Hey, you there? I've got some free water, if you're thirsty. Or, you know what, you look like you're definitely thirsty, so I'll just leave this here for you." He set the water bottle down beside Loki, who couldn't help but stare at the thing in wonder. Surely it was not meant for _him?_ "Oh, and do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Just want to make sure you don't have heat stroke and all that junk. Are you feeling okay? No headache, sweating, vomiting, weakness of the limbs, et cetera?"

Loki merely stared dumbly at the little plastic bottle, the contents of which shimmered in the sunlight. He couldn't decipher anything Stark was saying - he was so _thirsty,_ and he just wanted to reach out and take the water and _drink_ but he couldn't risk the man seeing his blue hands and asking questions.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, and Loki jumped violently.

"Hey? Can you hear me?"

And before Loki could move, before he could _think,_ Stark's face was in his range of vision and his blood ran cold because the man could _see_ him.

Loki knew, all too well, what would happen next. It had happened so many times before, played out both in his mind and before his eyes. Stark would recoil, disgusted, drawing his hand away from the hideous monster. He would be unable to take his eyes away from the horrid spectacle, and then would either run in fear or, what was more likely, call for help and demand to know what such a monster was doing in his city. Even those who approached Loki with kind intentions, few as they were, were never able to conceal their revulsion at the sight of him.

So he closed his eyes, steeling himself for the flood of horror and rejection that was sure to issue from the man before him.

It never came.

The hand moved from his shoulder to the hood covering his face, pulling it back to reveal Loki's entire head. The touch was gentle, sending shivers down Loki's spine. It had been so _long_ since someone had touched him like that, without the intention to restrain or hurt.

Anger and humiliation welled inside Loki at the thought that something so trifling as the brush of Stark's fingers against his skin could rouse such feelings.

Deeper down, Loki hoped that the man would touch him again.

It took him several seconds to recognize the voice that was speaking once more.

"-blue. You're completely blue. Holy crap. What happened? Did you paint yourself? Why would you paint yourself? Do you have some kind of skin condition? Hell, I'm not a doctor. What the heck happened to you?"

And then Stark was drawing back, examining Loki with narrowed eyes.

_Damn._

"What in the name of…" Stark's voice trailed off. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Please tell me I'm not seeing this. Please tell me this isn't… Please tell me you're not Loki. Please? Tell me I'm hallucinating. I'm hallucinating, right? Because that would be crazy. Loki, back down here, dressed like a homeless person and blue and- I have to be hallucinating. I have to be."

Loki swallowed painfully, his parched throat protesting. He raised his head a little, letting his crimson eyes meet Stark's for a fraction of an instant. Well, if he was going to have his identity revealed to the world, there was no sense in delaying it.

(And perhaps it would not be so _hot,_ in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s cells.)

"You are not hallucinating," Loki rasped, fighting to put at least a semblance of superciliousness into his cracked voice. His vision grew hazy for a moment, so that Stark became a blur, before clearing again. The man was staring at him with a look of utter incredulity that, for some reason, annoyed him.

"Loki. The guy who freaking threw me out of my own freaking _window._ What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but he didn't know where to begin. _Odin banished me? My family abandoned me here? I could not find any other shelter against the sun? I did not want anyone to see me?_ He instinctively curled more tightly into himself, hoping to shield a little more of his vulgar body from Stark's sight. "Stop- stop staring at me," he managed, in what was a noble attempt at irritation. "If you are g-going to arrest me, there is nothing to wait for." It was as though the last shreds of his forgotten pride had scraped themselves together and forced their way to the front of his consciousness. Willing himself not to tremble with exhaustion and weakness, Loki held out his wrists for Stark to bind. He could not fight the man, not in his current condition, and Loki would not subject himself to the humiliation of losing what would certainly be a very short struggle. At the very least, he could be captured on his own terms.

(The bottle of water still sat before him, glittering and deliciously cool. Loki ached with thirst, hardly able to keep himself from taking the thing and draining its contents. Perhaps they would give him water, in his cell. They would, would they not? The humans were so peculiarly coddling toward their prisoners.)

Stark, however, did not move, regarding Loki with stunned surprise. After a moment, he seemed to come to himself.

"Uh, I don't think there's any need for that," the man said slowly. "I doubt you're going to be putting up much of a fight."

Loki withdrew his hands, shame creeping over his face. He was so pitiful, then, that they would not even take the trouble of binding him.

"But seriously, what the hell is going on? Why aren't you in Asgard? From what Thor said, we weren't ever going to have to see you again. And I was totally fine with that."

Loki shot Stark a weak glare, but he was far too tired to summon any real anger. "I was banished," he snapped. "You need not fear for your safety; my powers were taken from me."

"Powers…? As in, your magic?"

Loki didn't deign that with an answer, the truth being obvious enough as it was. And there was something else slowly dawning on him: Stark had not asked again about his appearance. He wasn't repulsed by it, either; it was as though, absurd as the thought was, Stark did not care. A hope began to take shape - a foolish, ill-conceived hope - that perhaps, _perhaps,_ Stark did not find Loki's Jotun form hideous and disgusting. Why it should be important to him what a petty mortal thought, Loki did not want to know, but he could not deny that the hope was there, as though he had been reduced to such a pitiable wretch that the absence of disapproval from one of his enemies could affect him so.

"-there? Hello! Earth to Rudolph! Are you even awake?"

Loki's eyes slowly drifted up to Stark's.

"You're banished, then? Does that mean you're staying here? Wait, how long have you _been_ here?"

"Six years, nearly."

Stark's eyes widened a little. "And- have you been, like, homeless this whole time? Living on the streets, wearing stinky clothes, and all that?"

Loki furrowed his brows, unsure what to answer. Yes, he supposed; "homeless" was an accurate term for his status. It stung and hurt, but was none the less true. He nodded, not meeting Stark's eyes. There was a fresh wave of nausea growing in his stomach - why was it so _hot?_ - and then there was something clawing its way up his throat, burning and smarting-

He leaned over and retched, his entire body heaving jerkily, and coughed up a splatter of yellow-gray bile.

"Holy crap! You okay? Damnit - sweating, vomiting, come on, Tony, you just had a crash course on this like two hours ago." Stark's hands were suddenly on Loki's back, holding him upright and gathering his filthy hair away from his face as he gagged and coughed out more slime. Then Loki was gently positioned so that his back was against the wall, and someone was tugging off the hoodie and then holding something wet to his lips, and all Loki could think was that water had never been so sweet in all his life. So kind of Thor, to let him drink. Perhaps he would take Loki to Mother; she was always adamant that they go to her whenever they felt ill. And Loki had always been ill, on the hottest days of summer; she would hold a cold, wet cloth against his flushed forehead and cheeks, singing softly and rubbing his back.

Loki could hear her voice, though it was lower and harder than normal. Perhaps she, too, was sick from the heat.

"Thor?" Loki breathed, lifting a hand to feel for his brother's face. "W-Where is…?" _When had his voice become so weak? _"I n-need Mother. Where- where is she?"

But Thor sounded angry, or confused, or- Loki couldn't understand him; there was something fuzzy in his head. And it was so hot… Perhaps it would help if he just rested for a little while… If he just closed his eyes, and slept…


	5. Thirty-Two Degrees

_A/N: Chemistry 110 is pure evil. I am woefully underprepared and I have a quiz on Thursday that's practically a giant test and aahhhhh...  
_

_There isn't anything triggering in this chapter, I don't think. Just the usual angst and feels. It's also really long; I didn't mean to do that, but there just wasn't a good stopping point any sooner. Yes, I know you guys are devastated. So, to comfort you all, I'll take an extra long time before my next update. (Actually, that was probably going to happen anyway, because I have a crap load of catching up to do in Chemistry.)  
_

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

Tony hadn't been sure what exactly the volunteers meant, earlier, when they told him to call an ambulance if someone was in really bad condition from the heat. Seeing Loki like this - puking out the pitifully meager contents of his stomach and then passing out, all the while soggy with sweat - Tony was pretty sure this was something like what the volunteers were talking about. But even as he reached for his cell phone to do the smart thing and call for help, Tony knew that that was not a good idea. It was painfully obvious why Loki had been covering himself up like that, in spite of the heat; it was the same reason the god had practically shriveled with self-loathing when Tony finally got a good look at him.

As much as he disliked Loki (the stupid prat probably had no idea how much money it had taken to repair the damage to Tony's tower), he wasn't really comfortable with putting the god through the humiliation of all the questions about his color. Tony was pretty sure he knew the reason for the god's blue-ness; Thor had mentioned something about Loki being adopted, and Tony had heard enough various details to piece together the basics of the story. He supposed it was very much possible that Loki's native race (what had Thor called it? Yo-tun?) was blue. It was also very much evident that Loki was pretty ashamed of what Tony guessed was his natural form. Tony had encountered enough of that same self-loathing around Bruce to know just how corrosively painful it was; in spite of it all, he couldn't help but feel a little bit bad for Loki. No one really deserved to hate themselves like that. And the way he had pleaded for his mother…

However, now was not the time to ponder on self-esteem. Tony was standing in an abandoned store with a passed-out, heat-exhausted, exiled god of mischief who had smashed up New York six years ago and was now living in the city as a homeless person. Tony honestly had no idea how he was supposed to proceed - should he call S.H.I.E.L.D.? Tie Loki up and drive him straight to Fury's door? Take him to a hospital? Call Pepper?

Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. He would call Pepper. She had an uncanny way of always knowing what to do, even in the most bizarre situations (and Tony had been in the middle of many of those).

Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, Tony kept his eyes fixed on Loki, watching for any sign that the unconscious god was waking up again, and instructed Jarvis to get Pepper on the line sooner than was possible. Moments later, the muffled ringing blared in Tony's ear, followed by Pepper's voice.

_"Tony?"_

"Yeah, Pepper, uh- I promise I'm completely sober. I swear. And this is not a hallucination. I'll even send you a picture. Do you need to see a picture?"

_"A picture of what? Tony, are you okay?"_

"No, no, I'm fine, but Loki-" Tony winced. Well, there went the chance to break it to her gently.

_"LOKI? What happened? Are you hurt? Is Loki there?"_

"He's here, but I'm fine, Pepper. Actually, he's the one who's not doing so well right now. I though he was a homeless guy - he actually is, apparently, because his father- nevermind. Anyway, I couldn't see his face, but I gave him a water bottle, and then he was looking sort of peaky, so I decided to check him out- I mean- not 'check him out,' but-"

_"Tony."_

"Yeah. Anyway, he's blue. Well, not just blue, but passed out with heat stroke or heat exhaustion or whatever it is that people get in freaking hot weather like this. I'm pretty sure he's not a threat. He said he doesn't have his magic anymore - god of lies, I know - but I'm inclined to believe him, because he really looks like crap. He was throwing up, and I don't think he's had much to eat recently."

_"Hell…"_ Pepper breathed. She was silent for a few moments before replying._ "Have you called S.H.I.E.L.D.?"_

"No. I wanted to talk to you first."

_"Wait, the great Tony Stark asking for advice? I'm impressed."_

Tony scowled, grinning slightly. "You can lord it over me later. Seriously, though, what the hell do I do?"

_"Call S.H.I.E.L.D.."_

"I knew you were going to say that."

_"Then do it."_

"Well…" Tony watched as Loki twitched a little, moaning out something hoarse and incoherent. It was a pretty pitiful sight, even considering that it was _Loki._ "I guess that's the smart thing to do."

_"Right. So call them. I don't want you trying to deal with Loki on your own."_

"Honestly, Pepper, I'm not in any danger. The guy can barely talk."

_"God of lies, remember?"_

"Yeah, yeah, but…" Tony sighed. "I don't know. I guess I'd feel bad if I didn't give him a chance to explain himself before carting him off to Momma Fury."

_"Feel bad? For _Loki?_ Tony, now is not the time to be sentimental. That man is dangerous."_

"He's also passed out in front of me, covered in his own sweat and vomit. And he stinks. Really, Pepper, he's not going to be conquering the world anytime soon. Not without a shower and some decent clothes."

_"Seriously, Tony! You can worry about that later when he's in a cell and New York is safe, okay?"_

"I don't know." Tony hated being indecisive. It was annoying, not knowing what to do. Even more annoying when Pepper knew what to do and he didn't want to do it. But most of all, he hated this damn _heat._ It was hard to think straight when he felt like he was boiling alive.

And then Tony realized that Loki had been outside all day, and all last night, and all the day before, and all the days before that for years, while Tony himself was in his nice tower with air-conditioning and ice cream and cold showers. It was hard not to feel like an overprivileged snob, comparing that to what Loki, and every other homeless person, had been dealing with all summer. Suddenly taking Loki to S.H.I.E.L.D., as smart as Tony knew that would be, felt pretty heartless. The least he could do, he supposed, was let the god try and explain everything first. And Tony did still owe him that drink…

Pepper was going to kill him for this, he knew. Tony was very well aware that he was being incredibly stupid; this was the god who tore apart his house, and half the city, because he was having a temper tantrum. But the six years since Loki's invasion had given Tony time to think, and Thor time to tell the team a little more of Loki's story, and Tony would be lying if he didn't admit that, after hearing everything Thor said, he felt sorry for Loki. Not that it excused anything, but Tony could imagine what a crappy childhood Loki must have had, between living in Thor's shadow and never living up to Odin's standards (which Tony could totally identify with). And after hearing what happened before Loki arrived on earth - how he tried to freaking _kill himself_ - Tony had an even harder time hating the god. He still did, sort of, but he felt sorry for him too. It was weird.

But, back to the present, and Pepper waiting anxiously on the other end of the line.

"Okay, Pep, I'm going to take Loki back to the Tower and see what he has to say."

_"What? Tony, what are you thinking? He's dangerous! He'll try to kill you again! You can't!"_

"Listen. If he shows any signs of being dangerous, I'll send him straight to Fury and the boys. I've got some new, snazzy anti-magic weaponry, and I've been itching for a chance to try it out, and who better than Reindeer Games himself? Besides, I have a feeling that offering Loki water and a shower should get me into his good books, at least for a little while. So here's the deal - I take him home, see what he's up to, and you don't tell S.H.I.E.L.D. unless there's an emergency. I'll have Jarvis alert you if anything happens to me, okay?"

Pepper sighed._ "I don't like this, but if this is what you want to do, then fine. But I need you to be careful, okay?"_

"Will do. Hey, Pepper?"

_"What?"_

"Have I told you how much I love you?"

Tony could almost hear his girlfriend's smile.

_"Love you too, you idiot. Be safe, please."_

"Will do." Tony hung up his phone, then turned to Loki. "Well, this is going to be fun. Let's see if I can find a cabbie who can be payed to keep his trap shut."

* * *

Loki slowly awoke, awareness drifting in like an evening fog, to find that Thor was taking him home in one of the royal carriages. He couldn't seem to make out his surroundings, but the gentle lurches told him that he was moving, and it was not upon the back of a horse. But before he could turn to ask his brother what time it was, he sank back into the grey haze.

After a time, details began to filter in again: a soft, yielding surface, blessedly cool air, water upon his lips, a steady hand, a voice echoing through his head. Loki tried to open his eyes - he wanted to know if he was in his chambers or Thor's - but they were far too heavy. With a great effort, he frowned and asked Thor what had happened. Why he was so _tired._

The question didn't seem to come out right, though. His mouth was sluggish and his tongue leaden, and the attempted words emerged as incoherent slurs. Thor's voice stopped for a moment, then continued with more urgency. Strange; Thor must be ill as well, for he did not sound like his usual self.

As sensation returned, Loki realized that he was not lying down upon a bed, but on a couch. How strange… had he fallen ill while traveling? Was it not Thor, but someone else who attended him? The thought was an anxious one, and Loki tried again to open his eyes, wanting to know where he was and whose indecipherable voice rang in his ear. Again, however, his body defeated him.

Then there was something cool and damp upon his forehead - a cloth - and Loki found himself leaning every so slightly into the glorious touch. He was so _hot,_ though he couldn't at the moment fathom why. Perhaps that was what was making him ill? Loki never had been able to stand the heat; it was mortifying, being crippled merely by the temperature when the blazing sun seemed only to invigorate the rest of Asgard. Oh, but he was a Frost Giant - surely that explained it.

A stab of something painful stung Loki at the thought of his heritage, and he hoped that whoever was so kindly attending to him did find it too repulsive. Surely they didn't; otherwise they would not touch him.

After a while, the words started to become clearer.

"Loki?" the voice asked, concerned and- _wary?_ Were they under attack? Had something happened? Loki tried to reply, but all he could manage was a feeble grunt. This seemed to please whoever was speaking, however; a hand smoothed back his hair, and the voice returned, more gentle this time. "Loki? Can you hear me?"

Forgoing any attempt at speech, Loki simply nodded.

"Finally. I was actually starting to get worried there. Me, worried about you. Next thing you know, I'll be fighting for temperance."

The words were strange and confusing, unfamiliar in their tone. Loki could not ascertain who the voice belonged to - though there did seem to be a distant ring of memory. It was too tenuous to grasp, however; for the moment, the name and face eluded him.

"Seriously, though, can you nod or something if you understand what I'm saying?"

Loki complied, which seemed to please the man.

"Well, that's a relief. At least Thor won't kill me for handing him a dead supervillain."

_Thor?_ The named jolted Loki's mind. He squirmed feebly, trying even harder than before to speak. This time he was successful, if only barely. "Thor…" he whispered hoarsely. "Where… Where is…"

"Thor's not here, buddy," the voice replied quickly. "Damn, you're pretty out of it. Now that I think about it, do you even know where you are?"

Loki's eyebrows furrowed, and he slowly shook his head. He had finally regained strength enough to open his eyes infinitesimally; he could discern nothing, however, due to the blinding light. Why was the sun so bright?

"Well, hate to break it to you, but you are currently in Stark Tower and in the gracious company of your host, Tony Stark. That would be me. Don't ask me what I'm doing, letting you back into my house that you totally tried to demolish, but you look like crap, and I'm extra sentimental today, so you're being treated to the glittering hospitality of Stark Industries. Well, not really Stark Industries. I don't think Pepper wants me to say that. It's my hospitality, really. Which is sort of temporary, if you don't behave. You got all that? Pay attention, I'll be quizzing you."

Loki's foggy mind couldn't decipher most of what the man said, but the names _Stark_ and _New York_ finally triggered the memory he had been vainly reaching for. Slowly, it all trickled back - New York, crowded streets, _exile,_ nights in dirty alleys, the heat, the thirst, the hunger, the _l__oneliness, you are henceforth banished from Asgard, _a war, pain and blood and mortals and Chitauri everywhere, the muzzle and chains and Thor so _angry_ and please, _please let me come home, I'm so sorry, please..._

Something in Loki's demeanor must have betrayed the sudden rush of memory; there were gentle hands on his shoulders, holding him as he began to tremble.

"Shh, it's all right - crap, I should have known better. Calm down, calm down… Dangit, Pepper is better at this than I am. Jarvis, tell Pepper to get back here ASAP. Loki, seriously, I'm not calling S.H.I.E.L.D. or kicking you out or anything. Not yet. Just- just calm down, all right?"

Loki finally opened his eyes. The Man of Iron's - Stark's - face hovered inches away from his; concerned and not at all unkind, if not a little panicked. What could the man possibly…? Loki tried to draw away, confused and frightened. What was Stark _doing?_ Why was Loki not bound and already in the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D.? Why was he- had _he_ been the one pressing the cloth to Loki's forehead? Why…

"Okay, looks like you're back. Sort of. Can you talk?"

With a great effort, Loki replied. "Y-Yes."

"Great. Um… This is awkward. What am I supposed to say to you? Hi?" Tony drew back, reaching for something on a nearby table. "And here's some more water. I tried to get you to drink earlier, but apparently being half-conscious doesn't do much for coordinated muscle movement. Anyway, here you go. Can you hold it?"

Loki, as it transpired, could not hold the glass with his own trembling fingers, and it was with a mixture of humiliation and relief that he allowed Stark to tip the glass into his mouth, letting the water slowly enter. The aversion to accepting such aid from the mortal quickly abated, however, as the scorching dryness in his mouth and throat was blessedly relieved, cool wetness taking its place. The water seemed to invigorate his voice as well, for Loki found that words came more easily to his wetted tongue.

"What do you want?" he asked, reasonably clearly.

Stark did not answer immediately. Surely the man did want _something…?_ The idea that he would simply be giving Loki such comforts out of the goodness of his heart was laughable. Even if Loki was not his enemy, no one would allow such a monster as a Jotun into their home unless there was something they desired dearly. What Stark could want of him, however, Loki had not the faintest clue.

"What do I want?" Stark considered for a moment. "Let's see. Ice cream, a few tips on how to lighten my suit, a dunce cap for Dum-E, some fuzzy socks, and alcohol that doesn't give me a hangover. Self-refilling glasses would be nice too."

_What?_ Loki frowned. "No - what is it that you want from me?"

"From you? Uh, nothing," Stark replied, as though it were obvious. "You mean, do I want something in exchange for letting you cool off for a bit? Not really. I mean, I'd like to know more about what's going on and what you been doing for - six years, you said? Other than that, nada. Unless you can take care of any of the previously listed items."

The light was a little less blinding, now, and Loki could open his eyes enough to discern something of his surroundings. He was within Stark's tower, as he had assumed, and seated on what was probably a rather expensive couch, with the man himself standing before him. Loki wondered why Stark was even allowing him to make use of his furniture; not only was Loki responsible for damage to a great deal of his property - he was filthy and quite smelly as well (much to his irritation). Surely there must be _something_ Stark wanted for him, unless whatever meager information Loki was able to give was really so valuable.

"You- you wish to know of my doings since my banishment?" Loki finally said, his voice even. His mind had cleared considerably; now, at least, he could assume an air of some dignity, even though the situation was a humiliating one for him. To be so blatantly needy of an enemy's charity… It was not a position Loki liked. But he was far too practical to refuse help simply because he was ashamed; Loki was well aware that he was ill-fitted to withstand the heat outside, and he would gladly take what little respite Stark might offer him. Not that he would allow Stark to know that, of course. "There is little of import. Odin exiled me to your realm, and I have been living here since."

"You've been homeless the whole time?"

Loki grimaced a little at the word. "Yes."

"Thor hasn't visited you or anything?"

"No." The word was sharp and bitter. Loki averted his eyes from Stark's face, fixing his gaze on the window. He would not allow himself to display any emotion, a feat made considerably harder by his bodily weakness and exhaustion. Still, he made a valiant effort, and he was reasonably confident that no trace of the rage and desperation churning inside him made any appearance.

"Seriously? Not even to check on you? Does he even know about you being homeless and all that? What about Odin? Of course, they can't exactly expect you to be integrated into society when you look like an Avatar cosplay with a severe case of pink-eye."

Loki laughed shortly. "Oh, I am sure that Odin knows perfectly well. Thor - perhaps not. Not that it would affect his actions either way."

"You mean - do you think Odin did it on purpose? Turned you blue, I mean?"

"Of course. It ensures that I cannot worm my way into the good graces of any of your kind."

"It _ensures_ that you get left outside on freakishly hot days like this. Wait, isn't your race from an ice planet or something? Does that make this weather extra awful for you?"

Loki nodded, smiling a little. "Very much so. Odin is a clever man, is he not?"

"Clever isn't quite the word I would use," Tony muttered. "So, this is it? This is your punishment? They've thrown you out of Asgard in Smurf form, and you're just stuck here? For how long?"

Loki wondered what a 'Smurf' was, but it was not important. "Odin did not specify a time limit; I am sure that he means my exile to be eternal. I do not think he wishes to waste any more of his time on a failure."

Tony's jaw tightened. "What a great dad. He and Howard should start a club." He took Loki's glass and refilled it with water, then handed it back. To Loki's relief, his weak fingers had regained enough strength to at least hold the glass themselves. "Here's to crap fathers everywhere," Stark said, taking a small swallow of a nearby bottle of alcohol. "Well, go on, Reindeer Games. I do owe you a drink."

Loki stared at the water in his hands. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you were throwing up all over the place and drowning in your own sweat. What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?"

"Any sane being would have had me imprisoned immediately," Loki said softly, allowing his eyes to meet Stark's. The man shrugged.

"Well, you weren't doing anything evil, but you were doing a pretty good job of looking sad and pitiful. Or maybe I just have a death wish. Either way, I thought I'd at least ask you what's going on before getting Captain Hook involved."

"And will you?" Loki asked.

"Will I what?"

"Notify your organization of my presence?"

Tony thought for a moment. "No. Well, not yet, anyway. Depends. I mean, if you're not doing anything, then there's no reason to. I mean, I'm sure Fury would be furious - pun intended - with me for not telling him, but I'm not heartless enough to let him drag you away for interrogation and tests and all that when you can't walk on your own."

The resentment that arose at the last words was feeble and half-hearted. "Then... what are you going to do with me?"

"Well, first things first, you need to take a shower, because you stink. And I'll need to find you some new clothes, because you are way off as far as acceptable summer wear. Then you need to eat something, because_ dang,_ you're skinny. When was the last time you ate?"

Loki's mouth was open, but it took several seconds for him to manage a reply. "I- I cannot recall."

"What? You can't even_ remember?_ Holy crap. Okay, I'm taking you out for pizza. Well, that might not be such a good idea - you know what, I'll just have something delivered. We can watch a movie. How does that sound?"

Loki couldn't reply. There was a lump forming in his throat; blinking, he looked away from Stark. Curse his stupid emotions, curse his- it was pathetic to be making such a shameful display at a mere show of kindness, but- Loki's hands tightened around the glass. He had completely forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of compassion (not that it was ever a feeling he had been closely acquainted with), and the sensation ached in places that had been hollow for many, many years. What little pride and composure he had been able to cover himself with began to fall away, slipping through his fingers like sand. Pathetic - for Loki to be losing his control over something so _trifling._

It made no sense, why Stark should be treating him as a guest, and not as a hated enemy. True, the man had made sure that Loki was not a threat before taking him in - but nothing else added up. Here he was, a hideous beast who stank of the streets and had attempted to destroy Stark's city only years previously, and the man was not recoiling in disgust or calling for S.H.I.E.L.D. to come and subdue Loki, but showing concern for Loki's welfare and offering the god his hospitality instead.

Never in Loki's life had he experienced anything of the kind.

Stark noticed and understood Loki's confusion, and mercifully continued rambling as though unaware, allowing Loki to try and recover his lost dignity.


	6. A Friend In Need

_A/N: Hello again! I am happy to inform you that college, and Chemistry, are becoming marginally easier. Marginally. I still loathe the class. However, I have had more time to write lately, so that's a definite plus._

___I would like to mention that there is a section in this chapter in which Loki has a discussion about religion. Please understand that NOTHING the characters say regarding religion is meant to be any sort of statement of my beliefs. It was simply written for the purposes of entertainment; I wrote each character as saying what I felt they would say in that situation. Please don't try and make anything out of it._

_Announcement: When I started writing this story, I intentionally structured it in a way that would leave room for me to work in whatever ideas I liked, whether planned or spur-of-the-moment. If there's anything any of you would really like to see in the story, feel free to suggest it. If I like it, I may use it._

_Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and reviewed! I love you all!_

_Enjoy :)  
_

* * *

The 'shower,' as it turned out, was one of the most delightful inventions Loki had ever encountered, both on Asgard and Midgard. Perhaps it would have been less glorious under different circumstances; but, being in desperate need of cleansing and still suffering from the effects of the heat, the gentle downpour of cool water was Valhalla itself. Loki replied with only a hum of affirmation when Stark said from outside that there were clean clothes awaiting Loki in the adjoining bedroom; the god was far too consumed with pleasure to say anything more. At the moment, Loki could not bring himself to feel irritated at the idea of accepting charity from Stark. It would gall him later, he knew, but he had not the strength now. Besides, he would be idiotic to refuse such an opportunity while it was available.

Loki emerged from the shower feeling much more like his old self - and promptly lost the feeling when he beheld his appearance in the wide mirror. Sunken, dark blue skin, hollow eyes, long hair, jutting bones: he would hardly have recognized himself, had he not known he was alone in the chamber. Shame prickled at the sight, both at the beastliness of his form and his emaciated state. He needed no further confirmation that he no longer deserved to identify as one of Asgard; such a pitiable wretch as he now laid eyes on was worthy of no race, not even that of the Jotnar.

At least Thor and the others were not here to see his miserable state.

Keeping his eyes averted from the mirror, Loki dried himself off with one of the fluffy white towels and exited from the bathroom into the bedroom, the towel wrapped carelessly around his waist. The bedroom was simple, but well-furnished; there was a large, pillow-strewn bed, a tall set of drawers, a desk-like table, and a cabinet containing a wide television. Loki gazed at the room for some time, the damnable lump in his throat making a second and equally unwelcome appearance. Stark had said something to the effect that he was allowing Loki to stay in this room, at least for a little while. As much as Loki hated himself for it, the prospect of being allowed such accommodations was one he greatly anticipated (and had absolutely no intention of refusing).

Again, the question of Stark's ultimate motivation for such hospitality rose in Loki's mind. The man seemed truly to desire nothing in return for all of this - but why, then, would he do it? Could it truly be that he was helping Loki simply because Loki needed it? Such a thing was absurd, for numerous reasons, and yet it was the only explanation that fit. The idea that someone would show him kindness of this degree, especially someone who had every reason and right to hate him, made Loki's heart swell with something that he did not want to name. It was a feeling he had not known for a very long time.

Shaking his head at his foolish sentimentality, Loki donned the clothing Stark had laid out for him. The garments were casual, in the Midgardian fashion, but far beyond the quality of anything Loki had worn for the past five years, if only because they did not smell of rubbish and sweat and urine. The black T-shirt and light sweatpants of the same color also fitted the god far better than his previous attire, though they still flapped about him like the clothing of a scrawny child due to his alarmingly underweight frame.

Thus attired in a presentable manner, Loki made his way back down to the sitting room to which Stark had instructed him to come when he was clean. When he entered, he discovered that it was not only Stark awaiting him; the lady Pepper Potts had arrived as well.

The atmosphere tensed instantly.

Loki and Pepper regarded each other warily, not a single word rising to either's lips. Pepper's hand moved to her purse, which Loki had no doubt contained a small weapon of some sort; Loki stayed where he was, unwilling to display uneasiness in front of a mortal.

Thankfully, Tony Stark was never one to be at a loss for words.

"See, Pepper? Told you he wasn't going to bite. Loki, this is Pepper Potts. Pepper, this is Loki, the strikingly handsome Norse god of mischief. Everyone say hi."

Loki and Pepper gave Stark exactly the same glare, then stared at each other with disturbed looks. Finally, relinquishing her grip on her purse, Pepper stepped forward and extended her hand. "Hello, Loki."

Impressed by her bravery, Loki reached out and took her hand. "Greetings, fair lady," he said, lips quirking upward just slightly as he bent down to kiss her fingers. Pepper flushed, obviously unsure whether to alarmed or flattered. Loki had never quite lost his love for mischief.

(The woman did not seem to be bothered by his Jotun form, neither when she extended her hand nor when he took it and pressed it to his lips; how strange, Loki thought.)

"Why are you such a gentleman when she's around, but you throw _me_ out of a window?" Stark asked with mock indignance.

"You are not half so charming."

Stark raised his eyebrows; Pepper laughed in spite of her obvious unease.

"Well, Tony, I guess we can let him stay a _little_ longer."

Stark muttered something about food arriving and left the room, leaving Pepper and Loki by themselves, the tension that had stood between them already dissipating.

"I would like to thank you for your hospitality," Loki said formally, studying Pepper as he spoke. She was very intriguing - while it was apparent that she did not feel safe around Loki, she had not hesitated long before extending the expected Midgardian greeting toward him and shaking his hand. Both her bravery and her seeming lack of disgust at his appearance surprised Loki; he had fully expected her to vehemently oppose the notion of him staying in the tower, and insist that Stark call for help. But she was also a very intelligent woman, Loki could tell, and it was not unlikely that she could see that he was no threat. The knowledge did not sit particularly well.

"Oh, it's fine - I mean, as long as Tony's right and you're not dangerous any more. It's not like we have any shortage of space or money around here." Pepper looked him over critically. "You look awful. Tony said you were homeless?"

"He was correct."

Pepper frowned. "We all had different ideas about what Asgard would do with you, but…" she pursed her lips. "I don't think any of us expected this." Her tone sounded almost _disapproving;_ Loki was rather taken aback. "Tony said you had symptoms of heat exhaustion."

"That was his assessment, yes."

"Are you feeling better now?"

"I suppose I am."

"Are you sure? When was the last time you ate anything? You look like you've lost a lot of weight."

Pepper's questions were almost of a motherly concern; if Loki did not know better, he might say that his condition was of importance to her. "It might have been a year ago, more or less. My memory is dim."

The woman's eyes widened. "A _year?_ How are you still alive? Is it a god thing?"

"Perhaps," Loki replied, smiling a little. "I have not the curse of being confined to a fragile mortal form."

"You're starting to sound more like six years ago," Pepper said, though it was with no sign of alarm. "So - you're a Jotun? Thor said Frost Giant, but I got the impression that Jotun was the politically correct term."

Loki frowned. "I do not know what you mean by 'politically correct,' but Jotun is the proper term, whereas Frost Giant is more… derogatory."

"Asgardians don't like Jotuns, then?"

Loki laughed bitterly. "Not in the slightest."

Fortunately, Stark chose that moment to arrive with several crinkling bags of what he referred to as Mexican food. Whatever skepticism Loki might have had at tasting an unknown form of Midgardian cuisine vanished instantly upon the aroma reaching his nose; his stomach growled quite audibly, and Loki flushed with embarrassment. But Pepper and Stark had the grace to pretend that they did not hear, and instead busied themselves with the food.

"Okay, I got a bunch of everything, because you look starving and Thor usually eats like there's no tomorrow when he's here," Stark said, opening the strange white boxes. The thought that Thor had visited Midgard and ignored Loki stung more than the god wanted to admit, but he quickly brushed it aside; now was not the time to pine after what was lost.

"Have you ever had Mexican food, Loki?" Pepper asked politely, setting down three plates at the table.

"I have not," he replied. Wait- they meant him to eat_ with_ them? As though he were a… a friend?

Loki swore that if he felt that pressure in his throat one more time, he was going to cudgel all the emotion out of his stupid head. He wordlessly followed Stark's gesture to sit down in one of the chairs, his long-ingrained manners fighting with the complete and baffling insecurity at finding himself suddenly cared for and included. Pepper and Stark took the other two seats, Stark making a dramatic show of pulling out Pepper's chair for her.

Pepper smiled. "Why don't you say grace, Tony?"

"Grace."

Loki glanced between the two, confused, as Pepper rolled her eyes and Stark feigned innocence. Pepper was the first to notice.

"Saying grace, saying a prayer - it's the same thing."

"You say prayers before eating?" Loki's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

Pepper thought for a moment. "I don't know, actually. It's tradition, I guess."

_"Some_ people's traditions," Stark corrected.

"To whom do you pray? I thought that there were few who stilled believed in extraterrestrial powers."

"Few who believe in you and Thor and all those guys. There are still plenty of religions out there. Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism… those are some of the big ones. Of course, there are plenty of atheists, too," Stark replied.

"Why are there so many systems of belief among your people? Should it not be obvious who is correct?"

Pepper laughed. "Well, most people do think theirs is the obvious one."

"How… chaotic."

"Tell me about it," Stark said. "Okay, can we eat now?"

"Yes, dear," Pepper replied, shaking her head. "I wouldn't want you to have to wait five minutes just to discuss religion."

"Religion is confusing," Stark said through a mouthful of food. He swallowed. "And full of annoying people."

"You would fit well, then," Loki said evenly. For a moment, he thought that the mortals were offended - but Pepper burst into laughter, while Stark pretended not to be amused.

"How did no one on Asgard like you?" Stark asked, regarding Loki curiously. "I mean, aside from the genocidal tendencies, you're actually not bad to be around. Do they just not like to laugh, or…?"

It was a moment before Loki could find his voice. "Asgard is not overly fond of my jests; they prefer more… inane and boorish forms of humor."

Loki was grateful that he had been able to speak without his voice trembling; he still could not wrap his mind around what Stark had just said - _"you're actually not bad to be around."_ Loki could not recall anyone ever saying something remotely similar to him.

Perhaps he should have refused this offer of hospitality. Never in his life had Loki's feelings been so precariously close to slipping out of his control.

(And all because of a human's kindness).

Hoping to avoid any more such lapses of composure, Loki turned his attention to the food before him. The first mouthful was absolutely delicious, though Loki wondered if he would have found it so while still on Asgard. The flavors were spicy and sharp in a way that compared to few Asgardian dishes. Perhaps, if ever had the chance, he would visit the land of the Mexicans.

"Like it?" Pepper asked.

"It is acceptable."

Both mortals seemed to find this humorous, but Loki ignored them. Again, he was grateful that they had the tact to overlook the way he devoured the food with a pathetically acute hunger, or the way he hunched over his plate just slightly, as though warding off any who might try and steal it. Pepper and Stark instead conversed between themselves about matters relating to Stark Industries, eventually moving to the topic of where they were to vacation that summer and then to whether Stark needed a haircut.

"You've never had it this long, Tony."

"I like it this length!"

"If you would take the trouble of combing it, or at least showering regularly, then I wouldn't mind."

"I do shower… somewhat regularly."

"Somewhat?"

"Okay, maybe I miss a day here and there-"

"Really."

"-but it stays mostly clean."

"Then why does it smell like the paint you use on your suits?"

"You've been smelling my hair?" Stark wiggled his eyebrows.

"Tony, I can smell it from here."

"Loki, can you smell anything?" Stark turned to the god.

Loki looked up, startled. "Nothing at all. It must be your shirt that stinks of vodka."

Stark snorted while Pepper laughed. "Hey, how do you even know what vodka smells like?" the man asked.

"I…" Loki averted his eyes. "I have become acquainted with various forms of drink."

Pepper immediately understood Loki's meaning; she kicked Stark under the table and shot him a warning glare before he could ask another question. "Well," she said, smiling. "You're looking a bit sleepy, Loki. Do you want to go to bed?"

"But we were going to watch a movie!"

"Tony."

* * *

Loki looked like he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Silently exiting the room (the glare Pepper gave him told Tony that he would be incinerated if he made a single noise), they left the god alone, Tony crossing his fingers that they wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night and find the tower on fire or something. He still wasn't one hundred percent sure that Loki wasn't putting on an elaborate show; but, at the moment, things were leaning in favor of Loki telling the truth.

Just seeing the guy snarfing down food like he hadn't eaten in months - he probably hadn't, actually - had pulled at Tony's heart in the way that no dewy-eyed charity event had ever managed. While he certainly didn't underestimate Loki's capability to act very convincingly, Tony had a hard time believing that Loki would use a scheme that involved throwing away all his pride and being the helpless recipient of Tony's benevolence. No, it just didn't feel like something Loki would do.

Pepper seemed to agree.

"Holy crap," she muttered as they sat down at the bar and Tony poured two glasses of scotch. "What a day."

"Tell me about it."

Pepper sipped the drink. "Still not totally sure, but I say Loki's telling the truth."

"Me too," Tony agreed. He reached over and pulled Pepper's face closer, giving her a short kiss. "You were really brave today, Pep. You _shook hands_ with Loki. Hell, you even stayed alone with him in the sitting room for a few minutes."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not at all." They kissed again, slowly and more deeply this time.

"So?" Tony asked, when they finally broke apart. "What do we do?"

Pepper pondered for a moment. "I… I don't know. I mean, we can't just let him keep living on the streets. It's not… right."

"I know." Tony stared thoughtfully at the scotch. "You know, I think I understand why I feel sorry for him, even with all the crap he pulled."

"Why?"

"Because…" Tony shifted on the stool. "When I was in Afghanistan, when I came back, when I decided to stop selling weapons - all through that, through every moment of it, I had you and Rhodey there with me. Well, not always _there,_ but I knew that, no matter what, I had you guys."

"Tony…" Pepper rubbed his arm. "Tony, that's…"

"Sappy and sentimental, I know." Tony grinned. "Point is, I've had a similar experience to Loki - we've both done awful things, both had to try and pick ourselves back up again afterwards. Except - I had you and Rhodey. I didn't do it by myself. I always had you guys; I mean, even when you weren't technically _there,_ I knew that you cared. Loki doesn't have that. He doesn't have _anyone,_ Pepper. Even Thor abandoned him, for goodness' sake. He's literally alone, with absolutely nowhere to go. I… I can't imagine, what it would have been like for me, if I'd been alone like that. It doesn't matter what Loki did - heck, there are probably more people dead because of me than him - because no one should ever be alone when they're going through this sort of thing. I don't know how anyone expects Loki to put his life back together, when they've just thrown him out and left him on his own. You don't - you don't recover from the kind of crap he's gone through on your own. You just don't. You have to have people there constantly to tell you that you can do it and that you're not worthless, because it really doesn't take long to just lose faith and give up. I don't know what Loki's been doing since he got here, but I would bet a lot of money that he's already reached the giving up part."

"Poor guy," Pepper said after a few moments. "I mean… I can't say I like him, but… he's had a rough time. I just… I remember watching tapes of him six years ago. Loki was so proud, Tony. And now - he's hardly even the same person. Well, maybe I shouldn't say that; he still does have a sense of humor, which is pretty impressive."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, I'll give him that. But he still has a lot to deal with, if he's going to come out of all this sane. I mean, you can tell from a mile off that he hates himself, especially his blue self, and I can't imagine how hard that'll be to get over. From what I've heard Thor say, Asgardians are pretty much conditioned to hate Loki's race. Must have been a hell of a shock for Loki, finding out what he was. Frankly, I'm not surprised he went off the deep end, especially since he didn't exactly have a loving family to help him."

"I still can't believe Thor didn't say anything to us," Pepper said. "I mean, he's been here since Loki's invasion, and I don't think he ever mentioned that Loki was here."

"Maybe he didn't know."

Pepper shook her head. "I highly doubt that. Maybe he thought his father was doing the right thing."

"I hope not."

"So…" Pepper took Tony's hand. "Are we letting Loki stay?"

"Well, I don't see why not. As long as he doesn't throw me out of a window again," Tony said, grinning. He glanced at a nearby clock. "Looks like it's bedtime, Pepper. Got any plans?"

"I don't know; do you?"

"Oh, just let me show you."


	7. There's No Place Like Home

_A/N: Well, you guys have lucked out again: this chapter is long. I didn't intend for it to be, but there just wasn't a better stopping point._

_On the lest positive side of things, I have a Chemistry test on Thursday. In case I don't survive it, I'd like to thank you all for reading, following, reviewing, etc. You guys are awesome :)  
_

_There is a point in this chapter where Loki's behavior will seem rather erratic - he'll be changing emotions rather quickly (you'll know what I mean when you arrive there). This is done on purpose; at this specific point, there are a lot of different things converging on his mind, resulting in the aforementioned behavioral pattern._

* * *

Loki did not fall asleep for several hours. It was not that he was not exhausted; he was, and the idea of sleep was tantalizingly sweet. But his mind was far to restless and confused to relax; there were simply too many puzzles, too many questions with no conceivable answer. Never in his life had Loki encountered a problem that stymied him so.

The first and most obvious question was _why?_

Loki had ruled out the hope of future benefit as a motivation for Stark's illogical hospitality. In his state, there was nothing that Loki could offer. Actually, the only use that Stark could have for Loki was as a medium on which to exact revenge, but the way in which he was treating Loki clearly contradicted that intention. No, there was no way that Stark could materially gain from taking Loki in; there must be some other reason.

Perhaps Stark intended to use Loki as leverage to obtain a favor from Asgard. But again, such reasoning fell to pieces: by abandoning Loki, Asgard had sent the clear message that Loki was no longer worth anything to them, and thus would be a poor bargaining chip in any sort of negotiation. Stark was an intelligent man; surely he had perceived that Loki was no longer of any worth to his former home. He would not make the mistake of assuming that Asgard would relinquish any sort of treasure or knowledge for Loki's sake.

_(The thought should not hurt so much.)_

There was the possibility that Stark was simply curious about alien life, and viewed Loki as a specimen to be examined; though that did not exactly dovetail with Stark's treatment of Loki, it did not completely contradict it either. Loki filed away the though for future consideration; personally, he did not think it likely, but as it was not impossible, he could not rule it out.

Loki supposed that there was a chance that Stark did mean to hand him over to S.H.I.E.L.D., but, for some strange reason, wished to observe and question him first, or perhaps lure him into a false sense of security before having him arrested. But again, Loki did not think it likely. As the god of lies, he was almost always able to detect falsehood, or at least gauge the likelihood of it; there had been nothing dishonest about Stark's or Pepper's behavior that evening. To all appearances, their actions were completely sincere.

And yet, they made absolutely no sense.

If he were considering all possibilities, then Loki had to take into account the chance that Stark and Pepper might actually be extending their hospitality to Loki simply because they pitied him and thought it unjust that he be left on the streets, but the idea was ridiculously absurd. There were few on Asgard, even before Thor's coronation, who would have showed Loki the same kindness, unless it was out of a sense of obligation to the crown or an anticipation of reward. Though Stark certainly had the heart to show compassion to one undeserving, Loki refused to believe that the man would do such towards a hated enemy - not only that, but a savage beast. Stark had every right to leave Loki as he was, or to turn him over to Director Fury and his henchmen; there was no logical reason for him to instead take Loki to his own home, feed and clothe him, and allow him to stay. This was- this was how one treated a respected acquaintance, or a /friend./ Loki was not, nor would ever be either.

And yet… the unthinkable was the truth. Though Loki could not begin to understand or make sense of it all, the truth was that he was lying here, in a soft and comfortable bed, with clean clothing and a full belly. It was wrong, and impossible, and defied everything that Loki knew; and yet, it was. A mortal had seen him - had seen his horrid, ugly face - and had deemed him worthy of mercy, in spite of his crimes.

How was it that Anthony Stark could show Loki such compassion _now,_ after everything Loki had done, when none in Asgard had been willing to even befriend him before his pranks and jests had turned bitter and acidic?

What did the humans have, that Asgard did not?

When Thor returned from his banishment, Loki had not understood what could have changed him so. In his anger, he had blamed Jane Foster, convinced she must have lured Thor in with some female trickery and proceeded to change him into a soft, cowardly excuse for a prince. Loki was well aware, now, that his mind had not exactly been rational at the time, but the pain and confusion he had felt had been very real; what had hurt him the most, he thought, was that Jane Foster, a mere mortal, had wrought in three days the change that Loki had been trying to make in Thor for centuries. At the time, it had completely baffled Loki, and in his desperate, damaged state, he had lashed out.

Now, however, Loki was beginning to understand. It was still unclear - there was much he had yet to comprehend - but he now knew that, despite the fleeting stupidity inherent in the Midgardian race, there was also a strange and powerful wisdom that had wholly eluded Asgard. These mortals, with their transient lifespans and constant threat of death, had come to understand and appreciate compassion and mercy in ways that Asgardians never did.

It was almost cruelly ironic, that the race which Loki had attempted to enslave (albeit not entirely of his own free will) ended up being the one that was most merciful to him afterwards. In Asgard, Loki had been shunned simply because he preferred reading to sparring; here, he was accepted and tolerated /after/ attacking the planet and leaving death and destruction in his wake.

In the past, when Loki was still a prince, he would have scoffed at the charity of mere humans. It would have amused him to see such petty beings offering their help; there was not a chance, not even a slim one, that he would have accepted it. His pride would never have allowed him to. Now, however, Loki knew that he was in no state to refuse charity, no matter what the source. As much as it grated on him to be indebted to those he had so long believed to be beneath him, it would be utterly idiotic to spurn their aid on those grounds.

And, if Loki admitted it to himself, he did not _want_ to refuse Stark's kindness.

It had been so long, so damned _long,_ since anyone had treated Loki like this. His heart ached in places that had been empty and hollow for centuries; to have someone show concern for him, _care_ about him, when they had absolutely no reason or obligation to do so, was a feeling he had forgotten long ago.

* * *

"So, what do you want? Eggs? Cereal? A bagel? A waffle? Actually, no waffles. Bruce Hulked out on the waffle-maker the other day, but he won't tell me why. Anyway, what would you like, Reindeer Games?"

Tony waited for the god to reply. Loki seemed to take a long time answering his questions, but Tony figured it was because he didn't understand half the things Tony said (Thor had the same problem). Or perhaps Loki just wasn't used to being asked what he wanted. Tony decided not to think about that.

"Come on, princess. The morn doth fade."

"I… It does not matter to me."

_You mean, you didn't recognize most of what I just listed._ "All right, bagel it is. I'm making one for myself, so I'll just stick another one in the toaster," Tony replied. He noticed Loki watching curiously as he took two bagels out of the refrigerator, pulled the halves apart, and placed them into his large, state-of-the-art toaster. Well, maybe state-of-the-art was exaggerating a bit; it was just a toaster that operated off of arc reactor energy. Pepper had rolled her eyes and told Tony that it was a waste, using the energy on basic household appliances. Tony didn't care, of course.

A few minutes later, there were two perfectly toasted and buttered bagels sitting before him and Loki. The god was a little cautious with his first bite, but it was pretty obvious that he liked it (and that he didn't want Tony to think so). So Tony decided to play along, ignoring how Loki seemed to inhale the food.

Loki was silent through the meal, not quite meeting Tony's eyes. Tony could recognize that attitude a mile off - the 'I have something to say but don't know how to start.' Well, he know Loki would spill eventually, so he went about clearing up the kitchen and pretending that he couldn't practically see the cogs in Loki's mind turning.

Finally, the smooth, tentative voice broke the silence.

"May I ask… What do you plan to do with me?"

Well, that was not unexpected. Tony closed the dishwasher, then turned to face the god, leaning against the counter. "I don't know. Still working on it. What do you want me to do?"

Loki looked a little taken aback, but he quickly recovered himself. "I have no preference. I am only inquiring as to whether you have reached a decision."

"Oh, come on, I know you don't _want _to go back to being homeless," Tony said matter-of-factly.

Loki averted his eyes. "I suppose you are correct."

"Bambi, it's okay to want help," Tony said. "Seriously, I'm not going to bite or anything. I know what it feels like to hit rock bottom. Let me guess, this is the first time someone's been nice to you since you dropped down here?"

"More or less," the god said after a pause.

"Right. Look, I won't pretend that I really like you, but I do feel sorry for you. Which still sort of freaks me out, considering that I still feel a little bit like throwing you out of a window."

Loki almost smiled. "For what it is worth, I do regret my actions."

"It's all good. I mean, it's not like I couldn't afford the repairs or anything. I did take pictures of the crater in my floor, though," Tony said, grinning. From Loki's grimace, he knew exactly what Tony was referring to.

"How… charming."

"Hey, you have to admit that was pretty funny."

"It was rather painful."

"Yeah, I bet. Anyway, back to the point. What _am_ I going to do with you? And, before you ask - no, I'm not calling S.H.I.E.L.D.. As long as you don't do anything villain-y, there's no reason to."

"Oh." Loki's eyes met Tony's briefly. "Thank you."

"No problem. I'm all for second chances and all that jazz. So, I'm assuming you need somewhere to live. You could live here - I mean, I have more than enough space, so it wouldn't be any trouble - but I don't think you want to run into one of the Avengers on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Might not end well."

"I suppose not," Loki said, a little thickly. He was staring at his hands again.

"So, I mean, you can stay here if you want to, but it's a bit of a risk. If you'd rather not do that, then I can find you an apartment somewhere. I can give you a fake name and everything. No on will ask questions, especially if they're getting money out of it. How does that sound?"

Loki's mouth opened, then closed again. "I… I cannot return the favor."

"Actually, I was getting to that. Have you ever used a computer before?"

"No." Loki looked a little confused.

"Well, I think you could be one of those computer wizards if you learned. There's a shortage of good programmers around - by good, I mean ones who are as good as I am - and I think you'd be phenomenal with those long fingers of yours. You'd probably be a good chemist, too - heck, a good anything - but I think I want to start you with computers. Seems like the sort of thing that would suit you," Tony said. It hadn't occurred to him until this morning to offer Loki a place in his company (well, not in his company, but at least working for him). The god was undeniably brilliant, and the idea of being able to harness his skills was a tempting one. Assuming that Loki accepted the offer, of course. Tony half-expected a supercilious "I doth refuse to work for thee, petty mortal" and a dramatic departure from the tower.

Instead, Loki only regarded him incredulously. "You wish… to hire me?"

"Uh-huh. I'll give you a salary, health care, vacation days, the works. You can ever start a union if you want to, though I think those have to have more than one member to be effective. So, what do you say?" Tony flashed him a grin.

Loki hesitated for a few moments, then raised his eyes to Tony's, the tiniest spark of the old pride returned. "I accept your offer."

"Great! Fantastic. I should probably teach you how to use a computer."

* * *

The mournful pounding of the rain on the palace roof brought with it the sadness that sometimes overtook Frigga on such days; heart turning heavy with grief, she found herself in Loki's old chambers, missing her youngest son.

It had been so cruel, to lose Loki, then hear that he was alive - only to find that he had become dark and wicked, and no longer the sweet child she had raised. Standing by as he was banished had been difficult as well, for Frigga had wanted to do nothing more than gather Loki into her arms, chained and muzzled as he was, and assure him that she loved him. But he was in dire need of learning his place; Loki's madness had swollen his pride and blackened his bitterness so that he no longer believed his family worthy of him, and thought himself entitled to rule a realm. If Loki must be exiled in order to be cured of his wickedness, then Frigga would abide by it.

She wanted her Loki, her true Loki, back.

How had he changed, from such a bright and loving child to a blackhearted traitor? What had happened to ruin him so? Loki must have grown jealous of Thor; the boy had always admired his elder brother. There had never been any question of which of the Odinsons would rule the realm - perhaps they should have made it clearer to Loki, so that he did not develop false hope. But, as Odin had said, it was Loki's own fault for letting his bitterness fester inside rather than speaking to his family about it, as would have been the proper action to take (had any wrong actually been suffered).

Perhaps Frigga should have discouraged Loki more from magic and encouraged him to train with Thor and his friends. She had secretly hoped for a girl child, to whom she could pass on her magical learning; it was because of this that she had indulged Loki's love of the art. But magic was a woman's pursuit, and it could not have been healthy for Loki. Shut away in his chambers with all his books and spells, Loki had missed out on the true lessons of manhood, and thus had forgotten his place as a prince of Asgard.

Once more, Frigga hoped with all her heart that Loki would see sense during his time on Midgard. He was always such an intelligent boy; surely it would not take him long to realize his failings, and then he would return to being her sweet, loving child.

As the rain lessened, the sadness began to depart from Frigga's heart. These fits of melancholy were always alleviated eventually by the knowledge that she would only be parted from Loki a little while longer. He would serve his punishment and learn the error of his ways, and then he would return home.

Everything was not so bad.

Smiling and giving Loki's chambers one last look, she left, shutting the door softly behind her.

* * *

The noise of the street, muffled but distinct in its own way, drifted through the half-open window along with a gentle breeze that ruffled the curtains like little flags. Warm sun followed the soft wind, falling through the window and onto the carpet, illuminating like tiny pinpricks the specks of dust floating in the air.

Loki stood motionless in the center of the apartment, gaze resting upon the window, his mind still struggling to comprehend all that had just transpired.

After he had accepted Stark's offer of employment, the man had set about finding Loki a place to live. It was not half an hour before a suitable space was found; within another hour, Stark had signed the lease for the apartment, handing it to the landlady, Mrs. Watson, along with a sum of money that would ensure her silence on the subject of her new tenant. The money was really not necessary, however; she was rather elderly, her vision poor, and only had to be told the story of Loki's 'mishap with a medication' to be mollified as to his strangely hued skin. After having been informed by Stark that Loki - who she believed to be named Lucio (Stark's idea) - was rather bashful about his appearance, and therefore did not want to have his condition seen or known of, she agreed easily enough to secrecy.

The apartment had come mostly furnished, the only essentials lacking being food and clothing; these Stark and Pepper had procured quickly, with the promise of bringing a more thorough supply on the morrow. After giving Loki instructions on the basics of operating the various appliances, and exacting a promise that he would telephone if any need arose, Stark and Pepper left Loki in his new chambers. Stark and already invited Loki to join him at his tower during the afternoon of the next day to begin learning the workings of computers, after Pepper's insistence that Loki be given an evening to adjust to his new home.

Loki let his eyes move over the room, over the couch and television and adjoining kitchen and bedroom and bathroom beyond. It was still so surreal, so unbelievable, to think - to think that it was _his._

His _home._

Still silent with wonder, Loki wandered through the apartment, running his fingers over all of the furniture and appliances, eyes drinking in every detail that he had not before noticed. It was all his, it all belonged to him, it was all… it was all more than Loki could ever have dreamed of, curled in an alley and clutching a bottle of alcohol. To think that, only a day ago, Loki had been huddled in an abandoned shop, nearly delirious from the heat, homeless and alone and abandoned…

Why Stark had done this for him, Loki could not fathom. He stared about - at the clean, pale blue walls, at the carpeted floor, at everything - and tried to comprehend that this place was something he could call home.

Eventually, Loki found himself back at the window, gazing down at the street. He recognized it, even from several stories up; it was not far from Stark Tower, and just out of his range of vision, he knew, was an alley in which he had spent several weeks during the autumn of last year, stealing alcohol from a nearby bar and attempting to drink away his pain.

There was a pressure in Loki's throat, and a wetness in his eyes; blinking and turning away from the window, Loki hunched over and covered his face with his hands, cursing himself for his weakness. All the emotions that had torn through his soul during the past days - the past _years_ - converged into a howling mass that demanded to be released. The anger, the shame, the loneliness, the pain, the brokenness, the heartbreak, the depression, the sudden hope - it was far too much to be contained, and Loki abandoned all efforts at bottling the feelings, letting them pour from him in tears that shook his body, sliding to the floor and sobbing uncontrollably into his knees.

What had he done to deserve this?

Would he ever understand?

Crying was beneficial for the body, some said; as Loki calmed, wiping his eyes and breathing a little more evenly, he realized that, in a strange way, he did feel a little better. The pain was still there, but it was not as sharp or burning as before; only a muffled ache now.

The sky was considerably darker, he noticed - had he really wept for that long? For a moment, Loki was ashamed, wondering what Thor would think of such a display. But Thor was not here - not Thor, not Odin, not Frigga, not anyone from Asgard. There was no one here to see: Loki could do anything, whatever he wanted to do, and none would see him. None would judge, or criticize, or mock.

If he wanted to cry, then there was no reason to stop himself.

Loki was overcome with a sudden and intoxicating wave of pure joy. He knew it would pass - that soon the depression would return, and he would be cursing his very existence - but it was the first time in years that he'd had any real reason to celebrate. He wanted to laugh, to shout, to sing-

Well, perhaps that would be ill-advised. Loki would rather not have anyone knocking on the door and asking what was the matter.

Almost bursting with happiness, Loki jumped up from the floor and danced across the apartment and into the kitchen. Quite some time had passed since he had last cooked, and though the Midgardian appliances were unfamiliar, the basic concepts were no different. The refrigerator and pantry, though not nearly full, held more than enough ingredients for a decent meal, even by Asgardian standards.

The weakness of his limbs, his utter exhaustion, his aching head and dizziness were all forgotten as Loki chopped onions and peppers, sautéing them in a pan with a copious amount of butter. There was a small package of meat in the refrigerator - Stark had called it "ground beef" - and, strange as it was, Loki soon worked out that it cooked much the same as any other meat. Half an hour later, he had created what the mortals referred to as a 'sandwich,' thought he suspected it would have been classified as a 'hamburger' instead (though there was no ham to be seen; mortals were so strange).

It turned out to be quite delicious, and Loki devoured it quickly, his stomach aching like a bottomless chasm. He then scoured the pantry for anything else that was readily edible, and discovered some bizarre Midgardian cuisine in the process. But Loki had never been one to shy away from the unknown, and he found, to his delight, that not all Midgardian food was as bland and dull as he had expected.

Finally sated, Loki left the kitchen with a carton of the unsurpassably tasty cream of ice, curling up with it on the couch and turning on the television. The mere idea of sitting in an apartment with food and furniture and air conditioning and a television, even though Loki had had almost an entire afternoon to become accustomed to it, was still strange and surreal, and he half-expected that he would wake up in a dingy alleyway, hot and miserable, only to find that it had all been a glorious hallucination.

Nothing of the sort happened, however, and Loki watched with amused interest as a mortal woman recounted what she believed to be the most important news of the day, though Loki could not see why the doings of a hideously over-tanned female from the country of New Jersey would be of interest to anyone.

The cream of ice was gone by the time the news had ended. The next programming was an exposition on the life of a small girl by the strange name of 'Honey Boo Boo,' who was quite well-nourished. Loki would have changed the channel, but he had dismantled the remote controller, the pieces of which were scattered across his lap and the couch (he was trying to ascertain by what power it operated). The show became quite irritating, however, so Loki reluctantly assembled the controller and searched through the other channels.

As the hours passed, Loki accumulated a fair amount of knowledge concerning Midgardian sea creatures and the woes of global warming, and also of the state of affairs in the desert region of Afghanistan. There seemed to be a host of conflicts erupting in the realm at any given moment; though Loki no longer desired to rule the planet (he never had, really), he wondered whether he had not been correct in asserting that Midgard would benefit from a central government.

The lateness of the night soon grew heavy on his eyelids, however, and Loki decided that retiring to bed might be wise when he found himself nearly asleep after ten minutes of watching a man walk about and give droning explanations of an ancient civilization known as Rome. Shutting down the television, Loki took one last look around the sitting room and kitchen, ensuring that the door was locked, then went into the bedroom and closed the door softly behind him.

Awaiting him was a large bed with at least eight fluffy pillows. Loki discovered, upon peeling back the blankets, that there was a rather thick cover on the top, a thinner one below, and then at last a thin sheet. He stood beside the bed for a few moments, running his fingers over the soft material. A real bed… Loki had not had such a luxury for many years, save for the previous night spent in Stark's tower. It seemed unbelievable, after so many hundreds of nights spent against brick and concrete and among heaps of refuse, that he now had an actual bed upon which to rest his body and a pillow for his head. Perhaps such accommodations would have seemed horribly basic to him, when he was a prince; now, as a banished traitor, it was far more than what he fathom.

"You are a clever man, Odin," Loki whispered as he began to remove his clothing. The mortal undergarments would suffice as sleepwear until he was given suitable replacements. "I never would have thought you capable of bringing me so low. You must be congratulating yourself." After a glance at the ceiling (was he really expecting some sort of answer?), Loki went into the bathroom and washed his face with cold water. He tried not to look at his reflection; unfortunately, the mirror was far too large for him to miss the vile monster across from him, gazing with blood-red eyes that stared out from a face of disgusting blue. Loki grit his teeth, turning his head away so as not to see himself. How had Stark been able to show him such kindness, when this savage beast was what he saw…?

Loki forced the thoughts away, then crawled into the bed. Though he was quite warm without any of the covers, he quickly abandoned the idea of sleeping without them. There was something oddly comforting about being covered while one slept; Loki was being silly and childish, he knew, and ridiculously sentimental, but he couldn't bring himself to relinquish the little privilege. He hadn't been able to sleep like this in years, after all; why would he bow to a little heat?

The sensation of lying down on soft and yielding material was still so alien, even after the previous night, that Loki found it more difficult now to fall asleep than he would have in a dirty, stinking alley. He really had to hand it to Odin; no other being could have been so wily as to craft a plan that would literally tear Loki's pride away and reduce him to the homeless monster he was.

Loki lay awake for an hour, at least, staring silently out of the window. He could see the stars, and just a little sliver of the moon; it was like when he was a child, and he would lie in bed, thinking of-

But even the memory made his chest hurt too much. Those years were lost to him; sweet, glimmering years that were far, far beyond his reach.

Wiping the stinging moisture from his eyes, Loki tore his gaze from the window and, within moments, was asleep.

* * *

_P.S. - If you think it's unlikely that Loki would know what a hamburger is, just remember that he's been wandering around New York for six years, and there's a pretty high chance he's picked up on what it is by now. It's not a particularly complicated food.  
_


	8. Halfway House

_A/N: Sorry about the wait, guys! As consolation, this is a long chapter. And stuff happens. Very important stuff. _

_I'm also currently heading towards an early demise due to the new Thor 2 clip. The way Thor is treating Loki, especially considering that (if the fandom is right) Frigga just died... I can't. Poor Loki. Asgardians are evil._

_You may have noticed that, every once in a while, one of my words is contained in /these/. I use those as a reminder for me to italicize things (the application I use for writing has a lovely format but allows no customization). If you ever spot a word still with those, please let me know. I try to take care of them all before I publish a chapter, but there's always at least one word that escapes my notice._

_As always, a Hiddleston-sized thank you for every follow, favorite, review, etc. :)_

_And now, on with the show._

* * *

_So I am no more than a stolen relic?_

_Why do you twist my words?_

_You could have told me what I was from the beginning - why didn't you?_

_Because you are a monster monster MONSTER MONSTER_

_Loki stands before Odin, chained and muzzled, Thor stony and silent by his side. The room is ringing - roaring - with silence, and then Odin is closer and closer until he stands inches from Loki's face and he is snarling and spitting _why did I raise you in my home, why did I bring the monster into Asgard

_You are banished!_

_Then all is blackness, all is lost, and he is lying in the midst of the jeering mass of Chitauri, and the Other raises his blade, dripping with Loki's blood, ready to carve another twisting scar into his chest, but Loki will not yield, will not yield, _will not yield

_It does not matter, for he has no choice, in the end._

_Then Loki is walking, walking across Midgard, and there are screams and fire and he does not want to be here, wants to go_ home_ but he cannot, there is blue in his mind and sickly power in his hands and he cannot stop himself_

_Why does Thor not understand?_

_Does Thor think him capable of _this?

_Thor is in the glass cage, the cage built for the monster, and Loki is so _angry_ because Thor cannot see that Loki is sick and that the Tesseract has his mind within her poisonous grasp and that Thanos is making him dance like a marionette and so Loki lets the cage fall, fall into blackness like when he fell from the Bifrost, because Thor believes that Loki does this of his own free will, that Loki is truly a monster_

_(Thor is right)_

_He is hunched in an alley and there is garbage strewn about and it is so hot_ so hot_ and then there are footsteps and he turns and Thanos is there before him, smiling, and he reaches out and touches Loki and then pain pain PAIN_

_You will long for something as sweet…_

* * *

Loki shot upwards, breathing hard and raggedly as though the fiends of Helheim were hot on his heels. There was chilled sweat on his forehead and a frantic quiver in his limbs; several minutes passed before the panic drained from his mind and he could think clearly again.

He was safe. He was in his apartment, in New York, alone and far away from Asgard and the Chitauri.

Thanos could not hurt him here.

Loki rubbed his eyes, sighing. Time had done nothing to alleviate the severity or frequency of the terrors that plagued him in his sleep. It was humiliating, to be so cowed that even his dreams trembled in fear or his past and future. There was nothing he could do about it, however; until he was able to heal his broken heart and mind, it seemed that escaping his nightmares would be quite impossible.

Loki lay back down, curling up and burying his face into the covers, trying to banish the burning images from his mind. He didn't know if he was shaking or shivering; it didn't really matter. At least there was no one to see his weakness. Well, there was always Heimdall, but Loki knew that his doings, unless they boded of evil, were of no concern to the Gatekeeper or anyone else in Asgard. Either that, or they simply enjoyed watching him suffer.

It was not an unlikely possibility.

Loki fisted his hands into the sheets, closing his eyes against the insistent memories that refused to leave in his waking moments. The bubble of joy that had swelled upon being granted the unspeakable kindness of a home had burst with the return of all his old pain and fears, and Loki wanted nothing more than to strip himself of all feeling, to banish the emotions that ached so whenever he thought of his past. Was it not enough to be cast out and forgotten by his family? Was it truly necessary that his mind be tormented by memories of Thor's ruined coronation, of discovering his true heritage, of falling from the Bifrost, of being tortured mercilessly by the Chitauri until he agreed to their demands, of staggering to Midgard as little more than a puppet, of being forced back to Asgard in chains and disgrace, of being thrown down to Midgard? Could he not simply have peace, a refuge in his head that was not violated by the horrors of the past years?

No, there was no rest for a monster. Even now, safe from those looming phantoms, sheltered and protected by the kindness of Anthony Stark, Loki could find no solace. Groaning, he tossed aside the blankets and rose from the bed, head spinning a little. Loki stumbled over to the bathroom, turning on the lights and bathing his face with cold water in order to rouse himself fully. Just as he had earlier that night, Loki tried and failed not to notice his reflection. If possible, he was even more haggard and unhealthy in appearance than he had been before he retired to bed. Loki glanced at the little clock beside his bed; the red numbers showed the time to be a little past four in the morning. Loki was badly in need of more sleep, but he knew that he would not find it any more this night.

Loki left the bathroom and changed from his sleepwear into some proper clothing, then, pulling up the hood of his jacket so as to obscure most of his face, he left the apartment, ensuring that the door was locked and the key in his pocket. The air was cool, but stirred with the promise of warmth even though the sun was still but a whisper in the brooding grey sky.

There were few out and about at this hour, and Loki was able to walk down the street without encountering many others. He was not entirely sure where it was his feet were taking him; Loki knew only that he needed to _go _somewhere, to satisfy the restless urge in his legs. His mind would not allow him to stay still, bombarding him with all the things that had tortured him in his sleep. He needed to walk, he needed to escape, he needed to-

Central Park. His hurried steps had ended at the expanse of grass and trees that was almost like home to him. Loki almost smiled; he should have known that he would find his way here. He always seemed to, whenever he reached his lowest points.

(He shuddered at the memory of a cold Christmas night, of frozen ground and wet snow, of hands on his body and being torn open, split open, of blood spilling across his legs and the ground…)

Slowing his gait, Loki gazed up at the stars as he slowly meandered through the park. The little hope, the little candle sputtering and struggling but not yet dead, flickering in his heart, still remained: Perhaps Thor would come for him. Perhaps, one of these clear nights, the sky with flash with lighting and crackle with thunder, and Thor would streak down to Midgard with a mighty roar, and he would stride over to Loki and embrace him with his crushing arms, and he would shout about how he had missed his little brother and about how Father wanted Loki to come home.

The thought physically hurt, because Loki knew it could not happen.

His crimes were too great, this time. There was precious little love reserved for Loki even before he turned to such a dark path; the amount of forgiveness available to him was scarcely more. It was foolish to think that he would ever be accepted back into Asgard.

But the stars, the cruelly distant stars, shone so brightly, and Loki could not help but relax a little as he stared at their vague beauty. The terrors of the night were farther away, now, as though they had retreated to another room, somewhere out of sight. The heartache Loki felt at the thought of his old home, it seemed, far overpowered his fears.

He was not sure whether to be pleased or irritated by the fact.

"Heimdall," Loki murmured, eyes fixed upon the stars. "Heimdall, I know you can hear me."

There was no answer from the tiny pinpricks, of course, but Loki fancied that he could see the Gatekeeper turning, ever so slightly, cocking an ear to catch the words of the exiled former prince. Heimdall would be listening, of course; any report of Loki's wretchedness and misery would surely be welcome.

"I know that you will never answer, but I will still speak. I have… already said that I am sorry for my actions, but I will not bother repeating it. I know that there are none among you who care." Loki smiled bitterly, leaning against a tree. "There is no need to debase myself further. I am exactly where the Allfather wanted me - alone and relying upon the charity of a few for survival. He may rest assured that, in my current state, I am no threat.

"I only wished to say - and I am sure that my words will be conveyed to him in some manner - that I am impressed. Odin has outmaneuvered me with his cunning, something I admit I never thought could occur. I also wish to tell you that this is the last time I will speak to you. I neither hope for nor expect any form of aid or recognition from Asgard. And…"

The stars remained cold and unmoving. It was silly, perhaps, to think that there might be some sign that there was a being who could hear his soft words. Loki stared at the white pinpricks for several moments before continuing.

"I… I wish you to know that I no longer desire to return to Asgard. I know I will never be welcome in your realm, and… There are some, here, who have shown me compassion. I know that I will be banished regardless of my desires, but I will no longer attempt to win your approval. You have made it clear to me that Midgard is to be my home. Therefore, this… This is goodbye."

* * *

Odin was unusually quiet that night; Frigga, after watching him for several minutes, decided to leave him to his thoughts.

She did not see the tear that fell from his eye.

* * *

_"Mr. Laufeyson has arrived."_

Tony glanced up from the computer. "Okay, Jarv. Send him down and tell him not to break any windows, if at all possible."

Seconds later, Jarvis's voice sounded again. _"Mr. Laufeyson requests that I inform you that you are, in slightly more acceptable terms than those he utilized, a 'pompous blockhead.'"_

"Really?" Tony raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. "Well, I guess I deserved that."

Moments later, the elevator doors slid open to reveal a rather irritated god of mischief.

"I do not understand your insistence that I am still dangerous, Stark, when it is perfectly obvious that I-"

"Oh, don't be such a baby. Just pulling your leg." Tony stood and indicated a chair for Loki. "I swear, you and Thor are worse than Sheldon Cooper when it comes to sarcasm."

Loki sat in the proffered chair. He looked a little better than he did yesterday, but not by much - Tony could see from a mile off that he hadn't gotten enough sleep. The god looked tired; maybe he was having nightmares. Tony wouldn't be surprised. He needed to remind himself later to give Loki some sleeping tablets (and a sandwich).

"Who is Sheldon Cooper?"

"The guy from _Big Bang Theory._ Don't worry about it."

Loki frowned, but turned his attention to the computer before him. The screen was lit, displaying the desktop, which was full of files that Tony really needed to organize, or at least tell Pepper to organize (which was the far likelier alternative).

"So, computers," Tony said, taking another chair and sliding over. "You probably know the basics, since you're freakishly smart and most likely learned something back when you were a world dictator wannabe. Anyway, there's the keyboard and mouse, which are your main input devices, and there's the screen, which is your main output device. Got it?"

"I am not an imbecile, Stark."

"Yeah, but you talk and act like someone from a Renfest, so I'm just making sure. Now, put your hands here…" Tony grabbed Loki's hands and positioned them over the keyboard so that his fingers were on the right keys. "I'll have Jarvis teach you how to type, and then we'll move on to bigger and better things."

Loki nodded, scrutinizing the keyboard. "I shall commence, then."

"Seriously, cut it out with the Shakespeare," Tony said in mock annoyance. "Tell me when you finish. I'll be right over here pretending to organize crap."

It was ten minutes later - Tony hadn't even answered all of his texts - when there was a soft tap on his shoulder.

"I believe I have accomplished the first task."

"Accomplished-? What, you can type already?"

Loki scoffed. "It was not exactly difficult."

"Holy crap." Tony stared at the screen. "Jarvis, is Loki's typing speed really one hundred twenty-two words per minute?"

_"Yes, sir, and judging by his rate of progress, it will continue to increase."_

The words Tony chose to employ at that precise moment would have made Pepper throw a fit. Loki only raised his eyebrows (now who was the pompous one?). "Okay, uh- wow. I guess we can get started on the programming, then…"

The Midgardian computers were confusing in the beginning - Loki had never encountered a similar machine - but their inner workings were simple enough, once he grasped the underlying concepts, and it was not difficult to memorize the "code" that Stark taught him. The man was clearly thrilled to be employing Loki; but, in truth, it was Loki who found the prospect of learning this new skill far more exciting. The feeling of using his mind, of memorizing and analyzing and understanding, was deliciously good after so many years of inactivity and decay. Loki could almost feel his brain whirring back to life, absorbing the information with a raw hunger and cataloging it with a zeal that had gone unquenched for far too long. It was almost like he was back in Asgard, sitting upon his bed and surrounded by old, rich-smelling tomes, hardly able to decide which to open first.

Within three hours, Stark had Loki writing his own basic programs, and within another, Loki was writing his own with very little aid from the mortal (though they were not very complicated yet). Much to Loki's amusement, Stark continued to watch, agog, as Loki's slender fingers flew over the keys. According to Stark, Loki had either broken or was very close to breaking Midgard's record for typing speed. The knowledge made him feel strangely happy.

"Okay, I think that's good for today," Stark said, leaning back and pocketing his cellular phone. "You're a scarily fast learner. You'll probably be hacking your way into Fury's personal network by next Tuesday. So kudos, good job, and so on. Now I need to feed you something, because you are still looking like a scarecrow there. Want to make something here, or go out?"

Loki looked up, surprised. "Go… out?"

"Yeah, I mean, go out somewhere. Not- I don't mean like _go out,_ go out, but just to a restaurant or something. You haven't eaten out in a while, have you?"

"No, I… I have not. But… would it be advisable-"

"Ah, don't worry. I'll call up this guy I know who runs a fabulous Chinese place just down the road. He's got a few private rooms, I think. I'll just tell him you have a skin disease or something and that you're kind of afraid of people. He won't ask any questions if I pay him enough."

"If that is what you wish to do…" Loki could still hardly believe Stark's offer. The idea that the man was willing to be seen in public with _him,_ even if Loki made sure to conceal himself… Had he been in Asgard in this form, none would have wanted to touch him, much less go anywhere with him. But Stark seemed afraid to do neither; at various times throughout the day, he had shown Loki how to position his hands and fingers, patted him on the back, pretended to hit him after Loki made some sort of sarcastic reply, and ruffled his hair, displaying not the least bit of revulsion at what kind of a monster he was touching.

Loki didn't understand it.

But, regardless of the puzzling enigma, Loki found himself sitting across from the man half an hour later, the two of them the sole occupants in a private room that was obviously meant to contain a much greater number. The manager of the establishment had acquiesced to Stark's request that no mention of their presence be made and that any waiters knock before entering, so that Loki would have time to conceal his face. Mortals, it seemed, were just as susceptible to bribes as the greediest Asgardien noblemen.

"So, Rudolph, what do you think of the joint? The decor's a little tacky, I know, but the Lo Mein is incredible."

"It…" Loki glanced around. The room was rather garishly decorated, as Stark had remarked, but, as Loki had been too revolting even for the dingiest of food sellers, he could hardly complain. "It is acceptable," he finally managed.

Stark laughed. "'Acceptable.' That's quite a compliment, coming from you. So, you like it? Should we get some candles, a bit of romantic music…?"

Loki leveled Stark with a glare that would have melted a weaker man in moments. "If you make one more such suggestion, I will flay you alive."

"Ooh, someone's getting feisty," Stark said, grinning. He flashed Loki a grin. "Okay, I'll stop."

"I can hardly believe my luck."

"Hey, remember it's me who's footing the bill, Reindeer Games."

Loki hesitated. He certainly didn't want to make Stark angry; the man was his only guarantee of regular meals and a place to sleep. He shut his mouth, looking away.

"Oh, no- that's not- Loki, seriously, do you not know sarcasm when you hear it? Good grief, you and Thor are the worst. Look - I'm not going to kick you out or anything just because you're being mouthy, okay? I may not be the nicest guy in the world, but I'm not going to let you live on the streets again. So just- you don't have to be paranoid, okay? I actually have a heart, regardless of what the media say."

Loki slowly raised his eyes to see Stark gazing at him with something uncomfortably close to pity. He swallowed, but relaxed a little. It grated on him, rankled inside him, that he had to rely on another so completely for succor, but Loki was nothing if not practical. Stark might assure him that aid would not be revoked simply because of a badly conceived remark, but Loki knew all too well how easily those who promised fidelity could forsake him. He had no desire to find himself again homeless and alone.

He cleared his throat. "I apologize," he said quietly. "You were right; you are showing me far more kindness than I can repay."

Stark stared at him for a moment, as though confused. "Look, Bambi-"

Just at that moment, there were two knocks upon the door. Loki hastily pulled his hood over his face, turning away. The door swung open a few discreet seconds later, revealing a man carrying their meal upon a large platter. There was a clatter of plates and glasses and utensils, uneasy in the interrupted tension between Stark and himself. Almost as soon as he had come, however, the waiter departed again, though not without a substantial tip slipped to him from Stark's ample wallet.

"Okay, you can turn around now, Emperor Palpatine," Stark said, unnecessarily, when the door shut again. Loki did so, lowering his hood and staring with wide eyes at the meal before him. The aromas alone awakened a fierce ache in his stomach; it was all Loki could do not to simply devour it as fast as possible. There were meats, vegetables, pastas, rice - far more food that Loki had had at one time for several years.

He hardly knew where to start.

Stark broke into his thoughts, however, voice firm and insistent.

"Loki, I want you to listen to me. I know you're having a hard time believing this, but I'm not helping you because I think I'll get something out of it, and I'm not going to dump you back where I found you just because you say something annoying. I'm being completely honest - and believe me, that's quite something - when I say that I think it was wrong for your family to just leave you like that. It didn't solve anything, and it only hurt you."

The words seemed to wash over Loki without sinking in - they were far too unbelievable. He frowned, trying to find his voice, unable to meet Stark's eyes. "But… I deserved pain in return for my actions, did I not? 'An eye for an eye,' I believe you say."

Stark shook is head. "No, that's not how we do things. In case you haven't noticed, we - well, a lot of us, at least - don't do the whole torture thing anymore. Not just torture, but anything inhumane. I mean, look at our prisons; they've got places to work out and time outside and TVs and all sorts of stuff. And healthy food. Even for the really dangerous inmates. So no, you didn't deserve pain - physical, psychological, emotional, whatever. That's not how it works. You needed help, actually. I thought it was obvious. So did Bruce and Steve. We had no idea what Asgard was going to do with you, but we didn't think they'd just abandon you like that. I thought there was going to be some sort of rehab, at _least._ Not to mention the fact that your dad has a lot to make up for, after how he treated you. Thor too."

Loki could hardly think of anything to say. Never, in all his bitterness and anger, had he imagined that there would be someone who actually took his side.

No one ever stood up for _him._

Thankfully, Stark seemed to understand Loki's speechless silence, and began rambling about the food. Had Loki been interested in studying Chinese cuisine, he would have received quite a thorough foundation from the flood of words that proceeded to alleviate the tense atmosphere. Relaxing, though still not making eye contact with the man across from him, Loki turned his attention to the food.

He still was not quite used to the idea of being able to eat as much as he wanted, and to have food available in a large quantity that was of a halfway decent quality. Loki had always been a finicky eater, partaking only of the Asgardian dishes that pleased him most; his time with Thanos and his years on the streets of Midgard had rendered such a habit unsustainable, and Loki had quickly accustomed himself to consuming whatever was to be had, save during his periods of self-imposed starvation. As Tony talked, pausing only for an occasional response from Loki, the god found that, for the first time in a very long while, he could again indulge his likes and cravings. The vegetables, he found, were exquisitely good, as was the rice and the little things Stark referred to as "egg rolls," though there was nothing remotely egg-like about them.

Loki was actually enjoying himself, if only a little.

"You like computers, then? I mean, it took you like three seconds to learn how to type. How do you feel about learning to be a programmer? Or a hacker. I think you'd be a good hacker."

It was not until a few seconds later that Loki realized that Stark was waiting for him to reply. "Oh- yes, I would like that."

"Awesome. Great. I ate too much."

Sometimes Stark's train of thought was extremely illogical.

"Well, that is quite a misfortune," Loki said dryly.

"Yeah, I know, 'there are others less privileged' and all that jazz," Stark replied, leaning back in his chair. "So… I know you'll probably kill me ten different ways for asking, but how are things between you and Thor and all them?" He gestured upwards, indicating Asgard. "I mean, obviously things aren't exactly peachy, but I didn't know if you left on good terms, or…"

"Good terms?" Loki almost laughed. "I think not."

"Yeah, figured. Why haven't any of them come to check on you?"

Loki shrugged. "There is no need. Heimdall is always watching. If I were to do anything that boded ill, he would be able to alert Odin within moments."

"That's not what I meant. Haven't they, like, come to make sure you're okay and everything? I mean, I guess it's pretty obvious that they don't care all that much, but I would have thought that Thor at least would want to see you every once in a while. He's still going on about how you're his brother no matter what and all that."

"He is?" Loki's jaw clenched. The _oaf. _"Well, I am not sure what exactly he has told you, but I can assure you that his professed sentiments are quite easily overridden. If Thor does indeed believe me to still have worth, then I have not seen it."

"You haven't seen him at all? Not even once?"

"Not since I was banished."

Stark whistled. "Wow. I mean… I would've bet anything that he would be coming to see you every chance he got. He just always seemed so… I don't know. Earnest. Like he really believed you were going to turn out okay. But I guess it's all bark and no bite."

Loki frowned, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the strange phrase. "I am not completely sure what you meant, but I believe you were implying that Thor's words held no true depth. If so, then you are correct. Thor has been ever adept at proclaiming his love and ever poor at showing it."

"Is that why you tried to kill yourself? Because you thought he didn't love you?"

For a moment, Loki was frozen with shock. Had Stark just… Had he just referenced Loki's fall from the Bifrost _casually?_ Not that Loki was any kind of expert on Midgardian culture, but he was not under the impression that suicide was treated any more lightly here than in Asgard.

And yet…

He realized that he didn't actually mind Stark's almost flippant tone. The subject of his fight with Thor and subsequent suicide attempt had always been a sore one for him, one that he had not ever wished to discuss; but the way Stark treated it, as though it were of no more significance than the weather, somehow made it… easier. Less cold and horrifying.

Stark was truly a very wise man.

"There were many reasons for which I wished to take my life," Loki finally said, voice even. "That was only one."

"Yeah?" Stark asked. "What else? Well, I can probably guess some of the other stuff, like that fact that you had a crappy dad and all that."

Loki laughed humorlessly. "Odin certainly was not opposed to me ending my own life. He did nothing to stop it. Though, I cannot say I blame him; I would have done the same, had I raised a monster."

"For the hundredth time, Loki, you are _not_ a monster, okay?"

Loki raised his eyebrows. "Truly? Not when I am a Jotun, the savage enemy of Midgard and Asgard both? It is well known that my race is evil and bloodthirsty."

"Listen." Stark leaned forward, fixing Loki with a firm stare. "I don't care what you've heard, what people told you, what you grew up believing. There is _no such thing_ as an entire race that's just savage and evil. Got that? That sort of thing crops up down here all the time - Hitler thought Jews were the scum of the earth, people thought blacks were inferior, yada yada yada. And you know what? _It's never true._ People make those ideas up because they want to feel better about themselves or because they want an enemy to blame for everything. We even have a word for it too: racism. And being racist is not seen as a good thing."

"The Jotuns attacked Midgard, Stark. They tried to rule it. Much as I did, in fact."

"Yeah, and you know how many people have started wars just because they wanted a bigger kingdom? Too many to count. Does it mean that every human out there wants to kill all their neighbors so they can have a bigger backyard? Absolutely not."

Loki stared at Stark for several seconds, trying to read the mortal's face. There was no trace of a lie. "Why do you insist on defending me?"

"Well, someone needs to do it."

"Needs to? Stark, I am a criminal. I am responsible for hundreds of deaths. I betrayed one realm, tried to destroy another, and tried to rule yet another. There is no way I could even begin to deserve aid or redemption. I very much appreciate your kindness, but you must know that I am a lost cause. No amount of punishment or rehabilitation will ever change my nature."

"Is that really what you think?"

"Do I appear to be lying?"

"Well, you are the god of lies." Stark grinned in spite of Loki's glare. "In all seriousness, though, I can't imagine how horrible it must be to believe that about yourself. Are you sure there's no way I can change your mind?"

"Completely."

Stark sighed. "I guess I won't argue, th-" He suddenly stopped, eyes widening. His hand clutched at his shirt, where Loki knew the arc reactor must be. A choked noise escaping his mouth, Stark convulsed and fell to the floor, hands scrabbling at his chest.

"Stark!" Loki cried, jumping forward. The man was seizing, shaking, eyes bulging and staring sightlessly at the ceiling-

Loki fell to his knees by the man's side, hands hovering over him for a fraction of a moment _(Odin lying on the steps, unconscious, Loki wanting to touch but not with these hands - the hands of monster -)_, before he pulled Stark's shirt up, searching frantically over his chest and the arc reactor for the cause of the trouble. "What is happening?" he cried, desperately. "Stark, what-?"

The man went limp suddenly, head rolling to the side. Without thinking, Loki placed his palms over the man's heart and _pushed_ with all his might-

"Holy crap, Rudolph, are you trying to kill me?"

Loki fell back, stunned, as Stark sat up, wincing at the rapidly darkening bruise on his chest.

"For goodness' sake, was that CPR or were you trying to crush my ribcage?"

Loki only stared, mouth agape. Not a moment ago, Stark had been _dying..._

"Sheesh, Lokes, I know I'm a good actor, but I shouldn't have fooled you _that_ easily. Anyway, point proven. Monsters don't try and save people, Reindeer Games."

Oh.

_Oh._

Loki's mind was blank, numb, wordless.

"Rudolph? You okay?"

"No." Loki swallowed. He was shaking his head and backing away from the man before him, hands shaking and stomach churning-

_It could not be true-_

"Loki." Tony suddenly moved forward, kneeling down on the carpet in front of Loki and placing his hands on the god's shoulders, holding him in place. "You understand what I'm saying, right? Monsters don't care when people die. They don't try and help. You can call yourself whatever you like, but you're not evil. I don't know how else to prove it to you."

"Tony…" Loki rushed forward and wrapped his arms around the mortal, holding him like a vice against his chest. For a moment, for one terrible moment, he had thought that Tony was dying, that the one man who truly cared about him was going to _leave_ him, and he couldn't let that happen, not when someone was being kind to him for the first time in so many years, not when he'd finally dared to hope that he didn't have to live alone, that someone could _be_ there for him…

"Shh, Bambi, it's okay," Tony said softly. There was a hand rubbing along Loki's back; Loki realized, suddenly, that he was crying. He held the man tighter, blood still cold with the memory of this man limp on the floor, seemingly dead and gone. And then it slowly began to sink in what Tony had said, how Loki had tried to help him and that monsters didn't do that-

"Tony," he breathed, voice partially muffled against the skin of the man's neck, "you just-" His throat was empty of words.

Tony, however, seemed to understand. "Yes, I just pretended that I was dying because I knew that you would try and stop it. And you know how I know that? Because I know you're not a monster. Do you believe me now?"

Loki let out a shuddering breath. Did he?

Could he possibly believe that?

It was wrong - it was impossible, ridiculous, and absurd; he was a criminal, an outcast, a murderer, a traitor, so many things that were so devoid of good-

And yet, and _yet,_ Loki suddenly dared to hope, for the first time in centuries, that there might be something in him that was worth saving.

That day, he later realized, was when Stark became Tony.

* * *

_P.S. - This is response to the people who believe that Loki is not displaying enough emotional trauma from the rape he experienced. I will explain. _

_To begin with, I am no expert on rape/rape victims, and I would not be surprised if I was a little off the mark in my portrayal of one.  
_

_However, I also do not believe that Loki would react to the rape in the same way most people would. Remember, he is someone who severely internalizes things, to the point that it's dangerous for his health. His reaction to something traumatic, such as rape, will be to damp it down and suppress it and hide it and deny its existence until it's impossible to any longer. Also, quite a few other things have happened to him which rank higher on his list of unfortunate events, as awful as that is to say. Rest assured, I will be dealing with the rape later in the story; I have a few things planned in which you all will see the damage you think Loki's been lacking. He is most definitely scarred by what happened; the fact that there were other, more pressing hurts does not mean that those scars were erased.  
_


	9. Lay Your Weary Head To Rest

Mrs. Watson might have agreed to a tactful silence regarding the color of Loki's skin, but it seemed that she was otherwise determined to see and speak with him as much as possible. Loki could not recall even Moth- Frigga ever having been this attentive

Humans were strange creatures.

He had just settled down upon the couch, Tony having returned him to his apartment minutes before, and begun taking apart the cellular phone Tony had given him (Loki was determined to solve the riddle of how these devices communicated between each other), when three knocks sounded on his door. Had such an intrusion occurred in his Asgardian chambers, Loki would have answered with an attitude that clearly conveyed his displeasure; as it was, he was not in the position to behave irritably to those who were showing him quite undeserved kindness. Sighing and forcing aside his impatience, Loki answered the door with a small bow.

"Oh, you're a sweet one," Mrs. Watson cooed, giggling and entering. "Aren't you going to decorate the place, dear? The walls are so bare. You know, I think they would look good with some good paintings. I know a lady who sells very nice paintings. She's the cousin of a good friend of my sister's ex-husband. I can give her a call, if you like. She might give you a discount. Don't you think you should put something on the walls, Lucio?"

Loki donned his most ingratiating smile. "I agree, it is a very good idea." _And why are you here, exactly?_

"Some landscapes, maybe. Or a good portrait. I have a portrait of my father just over my sofa. It goes beautifully with the floral arrangement." Mrs. Watson seemed to be looking around for a place to set the small wrapped box in her hands. Her eyesight was poor, Loki remembered.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked courteously.

"Such a gentleman," Mrs. Watson said warmly. "Here, these are some of my brownies; all my tenants love them." She pressed the box into Loki's surprised hands. "It's a secret recipe; I learned it from my grandmother. A good cook, she was. She came all the way from London when she was just a little girl."

Loki was staring at the box clutched in his fingers. A gift? For _him?_

_Why?_

"You should try one, while they're still warm. I baked them just now. I had the news on while I was in the kitchen - did you hear what they said about the heat? Record high, it is. Well, I believe them. It's never been this hot, not as long as I can remember."

There was a pause in the chattering; Mrs. Watson turned to Loki almost expectantly. Loki, however, was still trying to process the little wrapped box in his hands, mind searching furiously for a possible reason for them. It was not his name-day (not that anyone ever gave him things then), he had rendered her no service…

"Oh, what's the matter? Go ahead and try one. I didn't make them with nuts, if that's what you're worried about. Are you allergic to nuts?"

"Nuts?" Loki repeated blankly. "No- no, I am not." Fingers shaking a little, he tore the thin, garish paper from the box and opened the top to reveal a clean white platter laden with twelve rectangles of a brown, cake-like substance. Brownies, apparently. They smelled tantalizingly sweet. Hesitating for a moment, Loki took one of the little cakes and tentatively bit off a corner.

It didn't take long for the rest of the brownie to disappear as well.

"Thought you'd like them," Mrs. Watson said warmly. "Everyone does, except for poor Mr. Redding - he can't eat dairy. Well, I'll leave you to it, then. You really should decorate, you know - just a few pictures would really do wonders, I think. Oh, but I'm rambling again. Enjoy the brownies!"

With that, Mrs. Watson ambled out of the room, closing the door neatly behind her.

Loki stared after her, still trying to process what had just occurred. The woman had… made food for him? As a welcoming gift? Loki would have bet a large sum of money that she would be averse to seeing him any more than was necessary, that she would have been repelled by the hue of his skin, even though she was paid not to speak of it.

Why were mortals being so kind to him?

Numbly, almost, Loki set the box down upon the counter, then sank onto the couch, resting his forehead in his hands. Loki had experienced many things, during his long life; none, however, had ever confused and baffled him so thoroughly as these strange Midgardians. One would expect each and every one of them to loathe him for what he did - Tony and Pepper especially - but, for some indecipherable reason, they chose to coddle and care for him, as though he were merely a lost child and not an exiled murderer.

Strange, that Midgard, whom he had done so much wrong, could be so forgiving, while Asgard was so forcefully the opposite.

Loki sighed, leaning back into the couch. That was enough; he had to stop letting the golden realm into his thoughts. He had decided, the last time he spoke to Heimdall, that he was finished with trying to win Asgard's favor (and love); pining after it now would do him now good. Loki was in a far better position, now, then he could have hoped for when Odin stripped away his powers and threw him down to this realm - he should be grateful, really, because things could have been much worse.

Only a matter of days ago, Loki had been quite alone and without a single friend; now, there were three people, three gloriously puzzling people, who had taken him under their wing, showing him more care than Asgard ever had.

The more Loki thought about it, the more fortunate he realized he truly was.

With a lighter heart, Loki took the remote controller from the table beside him and ordered the television to come to life. After choosing what seemed to be the most intriguing (and least insipid) program, Loki curled up in the corner, head resting against the back cushions, and allowed himself to be immersed in the eccentricities of Midgardian culture.

Perhaps it should not have surprised him, how quickly his eyelids began to droop; his mind and emotions were worn and exhausted, both from recent events and from the past several years, the scars of which had not yet healed (not that he believed they ever would). It was to the sound of a man describing the wonders of modern air travel that Loki finally fell asleep.

* * *

Honestly, Tony felt a little bad for how he'd tricked Loki the other night, pretending that he was in the throes of death because Loki would try and save him and then Tony could prove that he wasn't a freaking _monster_ (seriously, what kind of a parent lets their kid believe that?). Even though Tony technically made his point, he still wished he didn't have to do it all sneakily like that. Or maybe he just didn't want to damage his ego with the fact that he hadn't been able to talk Loki out of his self-hatred.

But at least Loki got the point. Or so Tony hoped. The god had certainly reacted strongly enough; though Tony had had the distinct impression that at least part of it was relief that he hadn't actually died. Which, when he thought about it, was really sweet - and totally heartbreaking, since Loki had apparently changed so much that all it took was a few meals and a decent place to sleep before Loki was practically having a panic attack at the thought of losing him. Whatever had happened to Loki while he was homeless (and Tony was sure there had been some pretty nasty things) had really changed him. Well, maybe not changed; torn away all the layers of hate and bitterness, Tony supposed. Really, it had been obvious from the get-go that Loki's tantrum was really just a cover for some sort of extreme emotional agony - which is why he'd been pretty surprised that Thor hadn't at least tried to rehabilitate him before they threw Loki back to earth.

Well, enough heart-tugging for the day. Tony tossed his keys onto the counter, opening a bottle of Scotch and taking a large sip. Who would have thought that going to dinner with the god of mischief would be worse than watching one of those ASPCA commercials? Seriously, those sad-eyed puppies were nothing in comparison to Loki when he got all pitiful and self-hating.

Working on one of his suits felt like a good idea; no, actually, Tony thought he'd try and design a program for Loki to hack. Something told him the guy would be practically invincible, once he'd learned enough; Tony grinned a little at the thought of the headache Fury would have when he found that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most secret files were being stolen faster than Cap could say _America._ Tony was no novice himself - he'd managed to pilfer quite a bit from S.H.I.E.L.D. in his time, but even he didn't have a perfect record when it came to poking at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s deepest and dirtiest secrets.

Setting aside the scotch, Tony turned to go down to his workshop.

_"Sir, it appears that Mr. Laufeyson is experiencing some trouble."_

"Huh?" Tony whipped around. "What's going on?"

_"I cannot diagnose for sure; it appears to be a mild but rapidly escalating panic attack."_

"Holy…" Tony raised his hands into the air. "Jarvis, suit!"

One of the cabinet doors burst open in a shower of splinters as the pieces of one of Tony's suits burst out, streaking towards him and honing in on his blinking silver bracelets. Tony stumbled back as the suit wrapped itself around him; moments later, he flew straight through the window and into the night air.

"Update, Jarv."

_"I believe that Mr. Laufeyson is experiencing a nightmare, based on his movements and speech. I would advise that you hurry."_

"Yeah, thanks," Tony muttered. The wind whistled past his helmet as he shot through the air, swerving around buildings until he reached Loki's apartment. He landed with a crash on the outdoor stairwell, hoping for a second that he didn't wake anyone up, then pounded up to Loki's front door and blasted it down with his palm repulsers.

"Suit off," Tony murmured as he strode into Loki's apartment. The metal peeled itself away from his skin with glimmering speed; it was gone when he finally bent over Loki's couch, grabbing the shivering and shaking god's shoulders and jerking them, hard. "Wake up, Reindeer Games! Just a bad dream, come on! Breathe!"

Loki was wheezing and choking, as though his lungs had constricted so much in his fear that he couldn't even take in air, trembling and thrashing limbs covered in cold sweat.

His lips were turning blue (or blue-et, at least).

"Damnit, Loki, wake up!" Tony shook him harder. The god only cried out, curling in on himself as his lungs struggled to inhale. Great - now Loki thought Tony was _attacking_ him. "Come on! Okay, I know you're going to hate me for this later, but…" Tony let go of one of Loki's shoulders and then slapped the god, hard, across the face.

The scarlet eyes flew open.

For a moment, they were wide and terrified and confused, still frozen in the nightmare. Loki was gasping like he'd just finished a marathon.

"You okay, Princess?"

Loki whimpered and curled up even tighter, arms covering his head as he sobbed frantically. Damn - whatever he'd just been dreaming must have been pretty rough; Loki was the sort of person who wouldn't so much as let his lip tremble if he thought someone was watching.

"Hey," Tony said softly, sitting down on the edge of the couch and gingerly resting a hand on a trembling shoulder. "Loki, you're okay. Seriously. No monsters under the bed or anything. Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

_"Go away,"_ came the muffled reply. Tony sighed.

"Hey, it's all right…" he said softly, continuing to rub Loki's back as the god cried into his knees, body trembling. They stayed like this for nearly fifteen minutes, Tony murmuring gently and Loki sobbing like a scared child. Finally, the god began to calm, and Tony started to get the distinct impression that Loki was extremely embarrassed.

"All better?" Tony asked kindly as Loki uncurled a little, wiping a hand across his eyes.

Loki only shuddered; he'd mostly stopped crying, though, so Tony thought it was safe to say that the nightmare was completely over.

"Good," he said, standing. "I'm gonna go make coffee, and then we can have a little heart-to-heart. Sounds like you've got some demons hiding in that crazy head of yours."

Tony left the room, figuring that Loki would appreciate a few minutes alone to pull himself together. The billionaire was greeted by a soft breeze from the broken-in door when he entered the kitchen; he'd have to call someone over to repair that in the morning. Perhaps it hadn't been completely necessary to smash down the door, but he hadn't been sure just how bad Loki's panic attack was, and he didn't want to take any chances. He wondered what would have happened if Loki'd had a nightmare like that when he was alone on the streets. Had it ever happened? Had anyone taken the trouble to wake him up? Had anyone even been around to notice or cared enough to intervene?

The coffee only took a few minutes to make, but when Tony entered the sitting room, the god had already composed himself and was sitting up against the couch, staring quietly at his folded hands. Scarlet eyes slowly rose to regard Tony with a deep and inscrutable well of emotion.

"Why?" Loki whispered, glancing at the coffee in Tony's hands.

"Well, I'm tired, and you're not going back to sleep, I'm guessing, and we need to talk, so - coffee."

"No, I…" Loki drew in a soft breath. "Why did you come?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tony handed Loki one of the mugs. The god took it in hands that were almost steady; the slender blue fingers curled eagerly around the warm glass. Loki's eyelids fell a little as he sipped the liquid. "Jarvis told me you were having a nightmare slash life-threatening panic attack, so here I am."

"Your computer was monitoring me?" Loki asked. Tony's first impulse was to think that the god was annoyed - he would have expected Loki to be - but the tone was one of touched surprise. Of course, Loki was probably pretty unused to someone keeping an eye on him in a way that was friendly instead of suspicious; or just unused to the idea of having someone who was willing to come when he needed help.

Damn, Tony was getting sentimental lately.

"Yeah, I installed Jarvis here. Figured you might get yourself in a pickle sooner or later. That was a pretty intense dream, though. Mind telling me what it was about?"

Loki did not immediately reply. His half-lidded eyes regarded the dark drink in his hands, watching as the little curls of steam rose from the surface and faded away. Only a tiny flicker in the crimson depths hinted at the thoughts swirling inside.

"Did Thor speak to you of the Void?"

The question caught Tony off guard. He raised his eyebrows. "The Void?"

"It is the space between the branches of Yggdrasil, the empty silence stretching between the realms. When I let go of Gungnir and fell, it was into the Void. I was presumed dead because none, to our knowledge, have ever emerged from it alive."

"People jump into the Void all the time?"

"Not frequently, no, but I was not the first to enter it."

"So, what's so… What about it would give you bad dreams?"

"It is not… The Void itself does not haunt me as much as… other things."

Tony suddenly wondered why the god was being so open with him.

Maybe he was the first person who cared enough to ask.

"Other things?"

Loki tensed a little. "When I fell, I crashed onto a realm long forgotten by Asgard. It is not one of the Nine; it lies in the farthest reaches of Yggdrasil, beyond the span of any path. The inhabitants are known as the Chitauri."

Oh. Well, that explained things.

"They are led by a being by the name of Thanos. He is… He is powerful, and cruel, and ruthless in his desire to please Death."

"Death? As in a person?"

Loki tilted his head. "I suppose Death's form might resemble that of a human, or Asgardian. I do not know. As you can tell, I have not yet made her acquaintance, though I have often come very close."

"So how do you please Death? Kill people?"

"More or less. Thanos is determined to control Yggdrasil - to slay its inhabitants and let his minions roam uninhibited through the realms."

"Sounds like a great guy. Is he the one who found you when you landed?"

Loki swallowed slightly, knees drawing closer to his chest. "He is. I was brought to him, weak and nearly powerless, and he… interrogated me."

Tony was pretty sure 'interrogated' really meant 'tortured.'

"When he learned of my origin, he was most pleased. He offered me great reward if I were to aid him in his conquests."

"Is that why you invaded?"

Loki's jaw clenched. "I am not so easily manipulated, Tony. I did not say yes."

Tony felt a little guilty.

"He did not… He was not exactly pleased by my refusal. He gave the Chitauri license to…" Loki closed his eyes. "He told them to break me.

"I resisted for many months. Though they are not an overly intelligent race, the Chitauri are very willing to experiment. They discovered quickly that my magic could be drained and dampened through physical damage, and once they informed Thanos of the fact…"

Loki's hands were trembling.

"I discovered, Tony, that there are… There are tortures that none, not even the bravest or most perseverant, can withstand. There are ways of making every cell in a body white with pain, of tearing into a mind until it is left raw and open and bleeding.

"In the end, it did not matter whether or not I consented. My mind was broken and forged anew in a manner that was more to Thanos' desire. It was in this state that I was sent to Midgard, believing that all my troubles would be assuaged if I could but rule the realm."

Tony felt sick in his stomach. The thought had occurred to him that Loki might be lying, but there was nothing dishonest in the god's demeanor, and what he said fit only too well with what had happened. Thor had commented on how changed Loki was, though it did not seem to have occurred to him that this change was once that was forced upon his little brother, as opposed to a choice that Loki made out of his bitterness and hate.

A single glistening tear fell down Loki's cheek. "I was brought to my senses when the green beast pounded me into the floor of your tower. But the influence of Thanos did not immediately leave my mind; by the time my thoughts were my own, I had been silenced."

The muzzle. Tony thought with a pang of shame of the grey metal that had stilled Loki's tongue, preventing him from begging a chance to explain everything. Not one of the Avengers had thought for a moment to let Loki speak.

But the god had not even tried.

"Why didn't you at least- I don't know, try and tell us that something was wrong? I know we probably wouldn't have believed you, but we would have at least investigated it. And Thor- didn't he ever ask you what happened? Did you have a trial?"

Loki smiled softly. "I was brought back to Asgard and thrown straight into a cell. One month later, in which I saw no sign of my 'family,' I was taken out again only to be banished to this planet. There was no trial. I did not try and convince anyone of the truth, Tony, because none would have believed me. You know that as well as I."

"Yeah, but…" Tony had to admit that Loki was right. If he'd heard the god say that there was a guy named Thanos controlling him, he and everybody else would have called it bull and sent Loki to Asgard anyway. "Your dad really didn't give you a chance to say anything?"

"He is not my father, Tony. He has no love for me, and no reason to entertain the possibility that I might not be quite as black a traitor as assumed. Even if he was aware of Thanos' involvement, he would have censured me - and rightly so - for allowing myself to be defeated. I expected no mercy from the Allfather."

"Allowing yourself- Loki, you can't seriously think it was your fault."

Loki's eyes met Tony's. "No true man would have let himself be conquered in such a manner."

"You just said that there are tortures that no one can withstand, or something like that."

"It does not matter. I was too weak to resist; I am every bit as weak and pathetic as I was always claimed to be. Thor would never have been overpowered in such a manner."

"So? You're not Thor."

Loki's eyes flashed. "Are you insinuating that-"

"No, of course not. Good grief. I'm not saying you're a coward or anything - I'm just saying that you keep contradicting yourself here. You said first that whatever Thanos did was something that no one could resist. I believe you. Now you're acting like you're pathetic or something because Thor could have endured it. Even if that's true - who cares? You're _not_ Thor. You're usually the one reminding us that he isn't even related to you. So what if Thor does have some kind of super-resistance to pain? He's not you."

Loki regarded Tony curiously. "Why do you insist on defending me?"

"We've been over this so many times." Tony sat down on the bed, pushing Loki over a little. "Do I really have to say it all again?"

"All of what?"

Tony counted off on his fingers. "You're valuable, you're not a monster, Asgard sucks, you didn't deserve all this crap, I care about you. There. Do you understand, or should I try it in sign language?"

"Tony…" Loki was smiling faintly. His eyes were shining with something that was awfully close to tears. Tony decided not to comment. "All these kind things you say…"

"If you ask me if I really mean it, I'm going to smack you."

Loki laughed breathlessly, fingers tracing the rim of the coffee mug. "You are so insistent."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, because you're stubborn as hell. Really, when you were prancing around in your golden horns six years ago, I never would have thought I'd end up trying to pound self-esteem into your head."

"I never thanked you properly," Loki said suddenly, lifting his face towards Tony's.

"What?"

"For everything. For all your generosity."

Tony shrugged. "No biggie. It's not what I'm after."

Loki leaned forward. "Nevertheless, I would like you do know that I am deeply grateful for all you have done for me. I have never been shown such concern before, and it is…" Loki's voice trailed off.

"It's nice, I bet. I know the feeling. Kind of." Tony glanced over at the clock. Midnight. Should he try and go to sleep? He did just drink a cup of coffee; but, like alcohol, he figured he'd imbibed so much of the stuff during his life that it hardly affected him anymore. He wondered if Loki would be able to go back to sleep, or if the nightmare would just come back and make him almost choke to death again.

Then an idea popped into his head.

"Hey, Lokes, ever had a sleeping pill?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "I have not."

"Well, if you're tired and you don't want me to have to bust in and wake you up from a panic attack again, you could try one. They tend to knock you out pretty well - there's usually no dreams or anything."

"I am not afraid of my-"

"Loki, don't even try. It's okay, I've had nightmares too. Believe me. So, do you want to take one? Actually, you'll probably have to take like five."

"If you think it is best."

Tony grinned. "Good boy. I think there's a convenience store about a block down. I'll go and grab a bottle."

"Thank you, Tony."

"Anytime, Prongs." Tony ruffled Loki's hair. "Want me to grab you some doughnuts or something while I'm out?"

"Doughnuts?"

Tony's jaw dropped. "Doughnuts? You've never had a doughnut before?"

Loki frowned. "I have never had the occasion…"

"That's it, you're getting doughnuts. No buts. Just tell me what kind and it's yours."


	10. Et Tu, Brute?

_A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long to update! I want to give you a new chapter every weekend, but I just can't write that quickly, and I'd rather take a bit longer to publish what I have written than post it all and then make you guys wait a month until I can come up with a new chapter. I also wrote myself into a sticky spot a little while ago, which I only just managed to untangle. _

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! And thank you to everyone who's reading, following, reviewing, etc.!_

* * *

Tony returned with the sleeping pills and promised doughnuts before half an hour had passed. After delivering the items to Loki and supervising as the god swallowed four of the pills (the recommended dose was two), Tony all but tucked Loki in and then ensconced himself on the couch in the sitting room.

"You are spending the night here?" Loki had asked, shocked.

"I'm too tired to suit up and fly back, and this couch is delightful. Wake me up at noon."

"Tony."

"What?"

In all honesty, Loki had had no idea what to say. It was painfully obvious that the man intended to remain through the night in order to keep a watch on Loki - or, at least to be close enough to help within moments if Loki were afflicted with another nightmare. Loki was unspeakably grateful to Tony for pretending that this was not the case, though; it made him feel less of a helpless child. Secretly, though, Loki felt warmly grateful for the man's presence in his apartment. Tony's concern for him, however puzzling, made Loki feel worthwhile and wanted in a way he had not for many centuries. It was like…

It was like having a friend.

The thought fluttered hopefully in his stomach.

Loki had never really had any friends; those he had referred to as such had really only been semi-close acquaintances, friends of Thor who tolerated Loki only because Thor did. Some, perhaps, might have enjoyed Loki's company every once in a while; Hogun, perhaps, had been Loki's favorite of Thor's companions. But whereas there were many who doted on Thor, many who were at his beck and call and would be at his side in a moment if trouble arose, there were few who troubled themselves over Loki's welfare. If Thor came down with the slightest illness, it was almost as though the palace fell into mourning; if Loki fell so badly ill that he could not leave his bed, it was not likely to be discovered until one of his parents happened to notice that he was absent from a meal (if they noticed at all).

Tony, however… Tony was confusing and wonderful and irksome and brilliant and someone whom Loki doubted he would ever fully comprehend. Loki would never have guessed that this mortal, one who had every reason and right to hate him, would instead show him so much kindness as though it were nothing - and then proceed to look after Loki as though Loki's welfare were of high importance to him. Tony obviously liked to have Loki around; Loki was unused to his company actually being _wanted,_ and he had discovered that the feeling was wonderful beyond words. Now he could understand why Thor had always let that thick-skulled troupe follow him about: friendship was a beautiful thing, though one that Loki had never had the chance to experience or appreciate.

And to think that, of every being in the Nine Realms, the first that Loki could call a friend was a sarcastic, eccentric, lewd mortal who Loki had not even known of until six years ago.

In truth, Tony need not have worried about Loki sinking into another nightmare. The mere though of another person in the next room, a person who would be on their feet and at his side in seconds if the need arose, drove away every haunting memory of Thanos and the Chitauri. That horror seemed faraway and distant, now, compared to the pulsing glow of happiness in Loki's chest. It was pointless even trying to pretend that he was too proud to be affected so by mere solicitous concern; Loki had spent too many years alone to now deny himself the chance to rejoice at his incredible fortune.

Loki snuggled tighter into the covers, lips drawing into a smile.

* * *

The morning was soft and warm and lazy, drifting in with the muted noise of cars as Loki's eyes slowly fell open. He blinked for a moment, letting the satisfaction of a full and deep night's sleep wash over him. Then, stretching and yawning widely, he slid from the bed and padded with bare feet into the kitchen.

Tony Stark was sprawled across the couch, snoring rather sonorously through an open mouth. The sight did not annoy Loki in the slightest; on the contrary, warmth swelled inside him as he beheld the man.

Minutes later, a delicious aroma filled the apartment as coffee brewed, and the mortal stirred groggily.

"What'reyoudoingPepper?"

Loki laughed. "Try again, Tony. I am neither blonde nor female, though I could be both if I had my magic."

Tony sat upright, looking around in confusion for a moment before his face cleared. "Reindeer Games," he said by way of greeting. "Wait- what did you say? You're a woman?"

"Not at present. But I have been, on occasion."

Tony shook his head. "That's either an awesome story or one I never want to hear. I smell coffee."

"That would be because I am making it."

"Good morning to you too." Tony stood up and crossed the room, turning on the TV. The firm voice of a news reporter blared, and Loki and Tony watched for a few minutes as various images and headlines slid across the screen.

"What is the White House?" Loki asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "I have heard it mentioned often."

"It's where the president lives."

"Why is it white?"

"Dunno. Just how it is. More dignified than 'Pink House,' I think."

Loki hummed in agreement, still regarding the screen intently. "I find what you consider important news rather… surprising."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Trust me, I don't care about some of this stuff either. Wait- is that Cap?"

A stern, blond-crowned face had appeared on the screen, delivering a speech in strong tones about patriotism and American history. Tony rolled his eyes; Loki was torn between unease at the sight of his enemy and amusement at his Thor-like earnestness.

"I don't think anyone told him the Fourth of July is over," Tony said, chuckling. "Fourth of July - big American holiday. People celebrate independence from England by stuffing themselves with burgers and then getting drunk and lighting fireworks. Probably Stevie's favorite day of the year. Has anyone told him it's August yet?"

The captain went on, and Loki studied him curiously. It was easy, he thought, to characterize the man as being of the same inept breed to which Thor belonged; upon closer examination, however, it was apparent that Steve Rogers was a rather intelligent man, brave and noble like Thor but not vain in the slightest. Loki wondered if the captain would show him compassion as easily as Tony had; the man seemed deeply just and moral, however, and Loki was sure that Rogers would be unsatisfied by Loki's punishment so far.

"Wanna meet him?"

Loki stared at Tony in disbelief.

"You could do with a few more friends. Cap's not that bad, once you get used to him. Even his patriotic rambling can be kind of cute."

"Tony, I have already 'met' him, and I can assure you that neither he nor I have any desire to see each other again," Loki said flatly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he'd be fine with… everything. I mean, not _fine_ with it; he'd probably lecture Thor about being a responsible sibling and all that and not just leaving you out on the streets. You and Steve might get along, actually. I could set you two up on a date."

Loki tried to process what the man was saying. Did Tony really think that there was a shred of a chance that Captain America would be "fine" with discovering that Loki was living relatively unfettered in the city he once tried to conquer? And did Tony truly believe in that idiotic head of his that Loki and the Captain would be _friends?_

(The idea was not an unpleasant one.)

"I am sorry, Tony, but I would rather decline the offer."

"Actually…" Tony considered for a moment. "You know, I think I should tell him about you. Bruce too, maybe. Pepper and I are probably going to be traveling for a few weeks - cliche romantic getaway to Italy - and someone needs to keep an eye on you."

"I assure you that my plans for world domination are quite over and done with."

"For the love of all that is holy, Loki, you should know that's not what I mean," Tony groaned. "When will you get it into that thick skull that I might actually be worried about you?"

Loki hoped dearly that Tony did not notice the little flush of happiness in his cheeks. 'I can function perfectly well on my own."

"Yeah, I know, but you might have another nightmare or something," Tony said. "Look - I won't force you into anything, but I really think it would be a good idea if there was at least one other person who knew about you."

"Mrs. Watson knows."

"Mrs. Watson is half-blind."

Loki glared at Tony. "I am not a child. I do not need anyone to watch over me. And it would be a rather large detriment to my comfort to know that the Captain and the green monster were aware of my presence."

"Oh, you know Bruce wouldn't hurt a fly."

"He pounded me into your floor."

"You attacked New York."

The two locked eyes in a veritable staring contest; Loki won, of course. To his knowledge, he had never lost such a competition (it had annoyed Thor to no end).

Then Tony's eyebrows turned upward, and his lip stuck out a little. "Please?"

Loki scoffed. "Your impression of a child is a poor one when your apparel alone costs more than some houses."

"Dammit." Tony thought for a moment; his face suddenly lit up. "Here's a deal: You agree to get together with Cap and Bruce, and I'll dye Thor's cape green next time he shows up."

Well, in that case…

Loki narrowed his eyes, considering.

"I'll send you a video."

Loki tapped his fingers on his chin. This was a most difficult decision indeed.

"I'll grease Mjolnir's handle."

"It is a deal."

* * *

Curse his love for mischief.

(And the manic butterflies in his stomach.)

Loki fidgeted nervously, hands wringing in his lap. He'd sat down on the couch a few minutes ago, but now felt the need to stand again; there was too much restless energy in his legs. Swallowing, Loki paced Tony's sitting room, his gut a roiling sea of anxiety. He must have gone soft, after all these years on Midgard - it was shameful, how frightened he was simply at the prospect of meeting two mortals. Though, in his defense, they were both his enemies.

Tony had left minutes ago to answer the door, and Loki knew that the current delay must be due to the necessity of explaining the circumstances, so that Banner and Rogers did not simply attack him upon sight. Loki expected nothing less; they had no reason to trust him, and would be more than justified in dragging him off to S.H.I.E.L.D. for containment and interrogation.

He wondered if they would tell Barton and Romanoff.

Something cold and thick leapt into his throat when the elevator doors slid open and Loki heard multiple sets of footsteps approaching. Curse his weakness, curse this damn _fear_ that refused to leave. He was Loki, God of Mischief and Lies, Bringer of Ragnarok, Silvertongue, former Prince of Asgard - there was no reason for him to be cowering so merely in the face of two fragile mortals. But, in his state, knowing how utterly powerless and monstrous he was and how Banner and Rogers must _hate _him and all the things they would want to do to him…

Loki wished that he could at least be rid of this damn Jotun skin. The situation was terrifying and unsettling enough without the added humiliation of his appearance; Loki knew that he would want nothing more than to crawl into a hole and hide when the new eyes beheld his savage form. Despite all Tony had said to reassure Loki regarding his Jotun hue, Loki could not believe that the two mortals would really be unaffected by the sight. Even if they tried to mask it, their horror and loathing would be obvious. It always was.

"Lokes?"

They were standing in the doorway. Tony was looking at Loki with something like concern; was his fear obvious?

Loki prayed to the Norns that it was not.

He couldn't bring himself to look at Banner or Rogers, to see the disgust on their faces. Instead, he fixed his gaze pleadingly, imploringly on Tony. It was too late to back out of this, Loki knew; but he could still cling to the one friendly presence in the room. Hopefully, if the situation went in the most likely direction and Banner and Rogers decided to apprehend Loki, Tony would be able to at least prevent them from handling Loki too roughly.

"So, uh… Hello, Loki," Banner said, almost - _timidly._ Were Loki's throat not dry as desert sand, he might have attempted a reply.

Rogers stepped forward, the sudden movement causing Loki to look up. The man was dressed in civilian clothing, but he carried his shield - something that obviously displeased Tony, who was eyeing the soldier with obvious annoyance.

"Loki," Rogers said shortly, sky blue eyes traveling up and down Loki's tense frame. "Stark told me you've been in New York for the past six years. Is this true?"

"Oh, settle down, Cap," Tony said, sighing. "I told you, Reindeer Games is not a threat."

"I have to make sure, Stark."

"Stevie, I called you in here because I need someone to babysit Lokes when Pepper and I are gone. There's no need to get all paranoid."

"Paranoid? He tried to take over the world!"

Tony was looking more and more irritated by the second. "Cap-"

"How do I know he isn't controlling you?"

"Do I _look_ like I'm being controlled? Do I have those freaky blue eyes?"

Rogers clenched his jaw. "Stark, this is a known enemy we're dealing with there."

"You promised to trust me on this-"

"I promised that before you told me you had Loki," Rogers retorted. "You manipulated me, Stark."

Bruce shirted uncomfortably. "Steve, you did make a promise."

"I made a promise to defend America." The words would almost have been comical - Loki was sure that, in any other circumstance, Tony would have burst out laughing - but there was nothing humorous about the current situation.

How could Loki have consented to his?

"He's not a threat right now," Bruce said softly. "You can trust us on this, Steve."

The soldier lifted his shield higher, regarding Loki appraisingly. "Perhaps you're right, but I need to be sure. I'm sorry, Stark."

"Sorry about-?"

The words had barely left the billionaire's mouth when a thunderous noise echoed suddenly through the tower, rattling the windows. A glittering black helicopter descended from the sky until it hovered just outside the window, guns trained on the room. A voice rang out, deep and commanding through the crackle of the megaphone.

_"Hand him over, Stark, or I shoot."_

Loki's blood went cold.

_Fury._

* * *

It was over in seconds. Steve leapt forward, twisting Loki's right arm behind his back and shoving him to the floor. Tony shouted in anger, dropping the drink from his hand and charging at the captain when a bullet crashed through the window, driving into the floor just in front of his feet. The message was clear: _Keep your feet where they are or you won't have any left._

There was nothing he could do. Fury had the tower surrounded; the suit was three floors down, and Tony wasn't going to risk retrieving it when Loki was wheezing for breath under Steve's weight and could be killed or seriously injured within moments if Tony made a wrong move.

"You-" Tony couldn't even find words to express his anger. Beside him, Bruce stood with clenched fists, ears and fingers green. Tony suddenly rounded on him. "Did you know about this? _Did you?"_

"He didn't," Steve said calmly.

"So it was _you?_ You son of a-"

"It was the right thing to do, Stark. Loki is a criminal; he has to be detained."

"How?" Tony cried, shaking with anger. "How the hell did you even tell Fury?"

"I have a communication device. I notified him as soon as you said Loki was here."

"So all that time - all that time I was explaining to you and Bruce that _Loki isn't a freaking threat_ - you were just standing there waiting for Fury to show up and- and-"

Loki cried out suddenly, struggling under Steve's iron grip. His face was twisted with agony; his wide eyes were staring at Tony with a desperate plea for help that made Tony want to beat the living daylights out of Captain America.

"Tony- _please-"_

"Loki," Steve said warningly, hands tightening on Loki's arm. The god's mouth opened in a silent scream, his head dropping back to the carpet.

Tony felt sick with rage.

_"Sir, there are armed men requesting entrance into the tower. They would like me to inform you that if you do not allow them entry, they will force their way inside."_

"Let them in, Stark," Steve said evenly.

"Like hell I will."

_"I have a gun trained on you and Loki,"_ Fury's voice blared. _"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."_

There was no way out.

Tony felt horrible. This was his idea - he'd thought he was being smart, telling Steve and Bruce about Loki. He'd thought he could trust them.

Obviously that was not the case.

Steve was still regarding him with that infuriating self-righteous look and Tony wanted to bash his face in and throw him in the window because _how dare he_ betray him and rat him out to S.H.I.E.L.D. and hurt Loki like that and-

_"Stark, you have ten seconds before I start shooting."_

"Fine!" Tony yelled. "You win! Jarvis, let the snakes in."

He couldn't meet Loki's eyes in the following minutes, as Steve pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and clamped them onto the blue wrists, or as the masked soldiers spilled into the room, forcing Loki roughly to his knees and pulling a black hood over his head. He couldn't bring himself to look up when Loki was dragged from the room, stumbling and tripping as he was pushed by merciless hands on his arms.

What had he _done?_


	11. Crossroads

_I am so sorry for taking so long to update! It's really, really hard to keep writing when my classes have me busy, and my head is exploding with ideas for Thor 2 fics (THAT MOVIE IS AMAZING!). I promise I will finish this story, though, before I start anything else._

_This chapter isn't overly long, but it should help answer some of your questions. And to answer some of the questions you will undoubtedly be asking - yes, Tony is going to try and help Loki._

_I hope you enjoy :) Thank you so much for reading!_

* * *

The black cloth over his head and handcuffs clamped on his wrists left Loki at the mercy of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents holding his arms in vice-like grips; Loki stumbled and staggered between them, unable to maintain even a semblance of dignity while trussed up like a game animal. They led him into an elevator, and then out onto the street, the sounds and smells assaulting him like a physical blow, before a hand pushed his head down and forced him into a vehicle of transportation, where he was made to sit with his hands crushed between his back and the seat and his head bowed while the cold barrel of a gun pressed into his neck.

Loki should have known it would come to this. Tony had meant well, he knew, by informing others of his presence, and he did not doubt for a moment that Tony had had no idea of the soldier's deception. It was too much to hope for, however, that Loki could have a chance to rebuild his life, to start anew. No; he would never be able to shake his past or his terrible crimes. The brief respite of Tony's kindness had been wonderful, like water in a parched throat, but that was all over now. S.H.I.E.L.D. would want him imprisoned, at the very least; possibly executed.

Now that Loki was forced to face the prospect, he realized that he did not want to die.

A month ago, perhaps, he would have welcomed death. When he lay shaking and sweating and covered in his own vomit in a trash-ridden alleyway, abandoned and alone, Loki might not have cared whether he was captured and put down. It would have been a change for the better, really. But now…

Loki had had a taste, now, of kindness and compassion and _redemption,_ and it ached in his heart to know that that brief taste was all he would ever be granted. He was grateful, he decided, that Tony had found him; had he not been discovered, Loki might have spent years more as a wretched vagrant, wasting away until his body could endure no more. Though he could not deny that the thought of what awaited him at Director Fury's hands filled him with dread, Loki supposed it was better this way. He'd been able to experience something other than abandonment and neglect, before the end; his worthless, miserable life had had a small burst of happiness before it was snuffed out forever. Yes, perhaps this was best.

At least he would not have to suffer any more.

The vehicle lurched to a halt, and there were again rough hands pushing and shoving him out and into a building, through interminable hallways and stairwells, until there was the hiss of a heavy door and Loki was thrown suddenly into a small room. Someone yanked the black hood from his head; Loki flinched away from the bright light that stung his eyes. He barely had time to adjust before two masked agents grabbed his face and a third forced his jaw open and shoved in a muzzle almost identical to the one Thor had used six years ago. Someone else unlocked his handcuffs, pulling Loki's hands to the front of his body and snapping on a set of larger, bulkier chains, obviously fitted with the capability to restrain his magic. It was completely unnecessary, of course, but Loki had no way to inform S.H.I.E.L.D. of the fact (as though they would listen to him if they did).

Then they left, the door slamming shut behind them and leaving Loki completely alone in the little gray cell.

_No peace for you, monster._

Loki clenched his fists, hugging his knees to his chest. He wanted to be angry - he wanted to curse he mortals for their impudence, to rage at them for daring to treat a god in this manner. He wanted to feel anything, _anything,_ other than resignation and defeat and fear. Where was the pride that had cloaked him for so many years? Where was the arrogance that had been his faithful shield?

Why could he not convince himself that he didn't deserve to die?

_Because you are not worth the air you breathe, Jotun._

He could not bring himself to be angry with S.H.I.E.L.D., with Steve Rogers, with all the mortals who hated him, because they were _right._ Loki did not deserve to live; he was too vile, too disgusting to be allowed existence.

So he waited, curled against the wall, doing nothing to stop the burning tears from etching their way down his cheeks. Whatever punishment lay ahead of him - execution, torture, imprisonment for the rest of his days - was nothing more than he deserved.

It was funny, really, how there used to be a time when he thought himself capable of proving his worth - capable of matching up to Thor. He could still remember it: the taste of desperation, the burn of longing, the thrill of hope, the power of determination. He'd been sure, he'd been so _sure_ that all had to do was prove himself to Odin, and Asgard, and then-

And then what? What had he really wanted?

He supposed-

No. It was better not to think of it. Better not to remember, now, when what he had so ardently desired was far out of his reach.

Better just to surrender and suffer as little as possible.

_(He had only wanted to be loved.)_

* * *

Steve Rogers supposed he was one of those people who more or less saw the world in black and white.

There was right, and then there was wrong. There was duty and cowardice, patriotism and treason, kindness and cruelty, truth and lies. He had always believed, firmly, that the world could be separated into the good and the bad, and that there was always a right decision. He'd become a soldier because it was the right thing to do - it was his duty. He'd answered S.H.I.E.L.D.'s call when the Tesseract was stolen for the same reason.

He had lied to Stark and apprehended Loki because it was the right choice. Because Loki being on earth put people's lives in danger, and Steve couldn't let that happen on his watch.

He wondered, though, why the right choice felt so _wrong._

Steve had had few qualms about notifying Fury when Stark told him about Loki. It didn't feel good, going behind Stark's back like that, but what choice did he have? The man had clearly been manipulated, and it was far to risky to try and reason with him when Loki was free and could be plotting to wreak havoc on the city yet again. Yes, he had promised Stark not to say anything - but he had made that promise before he was told of Loki's return. Surely no one would expect him to say nothing about the presence of a dangerous criminal simply because of a promise made to a man who was likely under said criminal's influence?

Loki really had looked defeated and harmless; while Steve was as compassionate as any other, he could not allow himself to be swayed by what was, in all likelihood, an act. He did feel guilty when Loki squirmed in what seemed to be genuine discomfort as he was pinned to the floor; Steve had never enjoyed inflicting pain, and it gave him no satisfaction to see the strangely colored god pleading for help. Loki had certainly sounded honest; Steve had started to wonder, then, if what Stark said was true. There was no time for speculation, however; Steve's duty was to bring Loki in for interrogation, and he wasn't going to risk endangering New York.

Steve only felt worse, though, when the agents bound Loki and pulled the black hood over his head. Loki hadn't fought back, not even once; he'd only looked pitiful as he was dragged along by men who didn't seem as though they had a spoonful of mercy between them. Steve wouldn't have mollycoddled the god himself, but he didn't think that that handling had been necessary.

Then they'd thrown Loki in the cell, putting one of those muzzles on him, and Steve tried to tell himself that it was still the right thing to do.

He was having a harder time believing it.

Steve Rogers had always been a firm believer in justice, in respect to the laws of America. As much as he appreciated just how dangerous Loki was, he had to admit to himself that, considering that Loki hadn't actually done anything threatening, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s treatment was unjustified and uncalled for. Yes, they had to restrain the god, but…

They didn't have to do it like _that._

He'd been pacing up and down the hallway of the detention area, part of him urging that he speak to Loki himself and part of him strangely reluctant to enter the cell. What was he afraid of? Loki wasn't a physical threat. Even when the god had had his full powers, Steve had not fared badly against him in Stuttgart. Loki couldn't manipulate Steve either - words would be necessary for that.

So what was he waiting for?

Enough of this. Steve set his jaw, striding toward the gray door and allowing the machine to scan his eyeball.

(How did that work, he wondered?)

Loki was sitting in the corner of the bare room with his legs pulled up against his chest and his chained hands protectively clasped around his knees, his face downturned. Steve was still disturbed by the god's appearance; it was strange seeing Loki with cerulean skin and crimson eyes, when the god he pictured in his mind was still the pale figure with the striking blue-green gaze.

Steve cleared his throat; Loki looked up, face blank and impassive save for a tiny spark of surprise at the sight of his visitor.

What was he supposed to say?

"I'm sorry for how Fury's agents behaved. Are you hurt?"

Loki shook his head softly, eyes falling back to the floor.

"Good." After a moment of hesitation, Steve lowered himself so that he was crouching in front of the god, just above eye level. Loki's eyes flickered upward for a fraction of a second. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. It might save you some time when Fury comes in."

A few seconds passed before Loki gave a small nod of consent, still not meeting Steve's gaze.

"You've been in the city for the past six years, correct?"

Nod.

"So you were banished from Asgard almost right after Thor took you back?"

Nod.

"This was the sentence you were given at your trial?"

Loki's eyebrows furrowed as if in confusion. He shook his head.

Steve frowned. "There was a trial, wasn't there?"

Loki shook his head again.

"You didn't have a trial?" Steve shifted on his feet. "What about a hearing? Was there any kind of official court procedure?"

Another silent _no._

"King Odin was the one who banished you?"

Nod.

"Did he make the decision on his own?"

Nod.

"Is that usually how Asgardian criminals are dealt with?"

Loki shook his head.

"Did anyone speak on your behalf?"

_No._

"Were you allowed to speak?"

_No._

"I see." Steve didn't like this; everyone had the right to a trial, or at least to be allowed to testify in their own defense, regardless of the situation. Surely an advanced civilization like Asgard would recognize that.

He was about to speak again when the door slid open to reveal the imposing figure of the Director, eye leveled on the bound god.

"Decided to help yourself, Captain?"

"I was asking some basic questions," Steve said, unfazed, rising to his feet. "Loki didn't have a trial."

Fury blinked. "How tragic."

"Director." Steve crossed his arms. "You know how a justice system is supposed to work."

"Yeah, and I also know that that pathetic little guy in the corner is responsible for hundreds of lives and millions in damage. Can we please prioritize?"

"Prioritize? We're talking about human rights."

"He's not human."

"Neither is Thor, but would you imprison him without a trial if he committed a crime here?"

Fury narrowed his eyes. "Are you telling me that you actually believe the god of lies?"

"He didn't try to deny what he did."

"No, but he's getting into your head, same as he did Stark's," Fury sad coldly. "I'm disappointed, Captain."

"Director-"

"It's time for you to go. I have an actual interrogation to conduct."

Steve locked eyes with the man for several moments before crossing to the cell door, glancing at Loki as he did so. The god's face remained neutral at the development, though Steve was almost sure the god curled in on himself a little more as Fury approached, flanked by two armed guards and an impassive Agent Romanoff.

He'd made the right choice. Hadn't he?


End file.
